Relativity
by Beaubier
Summary: Aurora and Northstar join the X-Men! We've got it all: Love- JP has a crush, and JM is a flirt. Angst- Sibling cat-fights and personality disorders. Laughter- Scott grows a sense of humor. Drama- the Maximoffs are in trouble. Complete!
1. Introduction

TITLE: Relativity   
AUTHOR: Beaubier  
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: XBeaubier@hotmail.com  
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Mmmhmmm  
CATEGORY: General  
RATINGS/WARNINGS: PG-13 for lots of language, references to drinking.   
SUMMARY: The Xavier Institute, post-Ascension, gets an infusion of new blood as Aurora and Northstar join the X-Men. A plot against Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch is revealed. Drama, adventure, romance, angst and laughter ensue. Sometimes all at once.  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Northstar, Aurora, or any of the mutants herein. Nor do I own any of the humans. Or the places. Or the songs. Or really, much of anything at all.   
NOTES: For those of you not familiar with my tastes, I am a massive Northstar fan. Been reading lots of Evo fic lately, been watching the show for quite a long time… figured I'd have a go at throwing them all together. If anyone wants to know which bits were inspired by actual cannon, email me. I can give ya issue numbers. I'm being derivative here, and I'm not pretending otherwise ;) This story takes place in the summer after the events of Ascension I and II. About a month later. Thanks to Sue Penkivech, who is slogging through the rough, rough draft I gave her, like a true trooper. Where would I be without you?

A few assumptions I'm making here, at the start of this fic, that I think y'all should be aware of:

1- Mystique has crawled off to lick her wounds, after being summarily rejected by Rogue and Kurt.

2- Magneto is having issues with his team-- Colossus tried to kill him and we all know Remy's about to defect. So he told his kids to wait, and he'll come for them. And... 

3- Wanda, while by no means starting to trust the X-Men, does not hate them like she did before, after all that's happened.

4- Xavier is fine, back to normal, as well as Storm. The ending of the episode pretty much showed that. 

5- Jean is planning on leaving and going to college in a few months.

6- Scott... oh who are we kidding, he's not going anywhere.

7- Tabby is still around, but she's not with either group. 

8- Jeanne-Marie is slightly less psychotic than in the comics, particularly considering her status as "Weapon X Punching Bag" atm in 616. 

9- Jean-Paul is slightly less bitter, since he hasn't been through all the AF bullshit, and I'm painting him as simply a star athlete with a dodgy childhood. 

10- Alex stayed at the institute, and has joined up with the New Mutants. 'Cause I like Havok. 

11- Iceman is a regular standard issue X-Man now, along with Shadowcat, Jean, Cyclops, Nightcrawler, Rogue, and the grown-up types. It's pretty clear that they're replacing Spyke with him.

12- The Beaubier twins have a low-level psi link. It's in cannon. After JM was taken by Hedlock. 

13- Kitty has been in constant contact with the Brotherhood since the big event, considering her little reconciliation with Lance at the scene of the crime. She and Lance are sorta kinda back together.  

And now that we got that out of the way…


	2. Chapter One: The Rescue

AN: These first few chapters, mainly chapters one and three, are cannon re-writes. So if you find some striking similarities between this tale, and the introduction of Aurora and Northstar into Alpha Flight, don't think I'm trying to pass it off as my own genius. I did it in the spirit of Evolution, which I feel masterfully throws  Marvelverse cannon and characters into a new, fresh situation. Their pasts, I haven't changed much. Just toned down a little for the sake of Evolution, and changed their characters just enough, so they would fit into the Evoverse better. Suggestions are always good, and flames are always worth a giggle ;) 

**Chapter One: The Rescue** (Logan)

                Gothic. That was really the best way to describe the place. Logan shook his head and stamped out his cigar with a low grunt of satisfaction. Freezing up here, for some reason. Even in LaVelle, Quebec, summer was supposed to be summer. Didn't make much sense. 

                Then again, might've been the scenery. He looked up, eyes grazing the front of the cathedral. Madame DuPont's School for Girls. Flying buttresses, like some sort of insect exoskeleton. A building made up of dark stone and pointed arches, uncomfortable and cold. The golden summer sun didn't seem to touch it. And it smelled like cold. Like fall and dead leaves. Set off something painful in his senses. Smell of despair, it seemed to him. 

                They'd probably been right about him not going inside. Probably for the best, in a place like this. He was likely to give a nun a heart attack. 

                Fifteen minutes, was all it took. Jean was stamping out of the building like she had hell on her heels, and Storm was following. Her expression was the picture of that "little black raincloud" people liked to talk about so much. He wasn't really bothered to enjoy the irony of it. Partially because it was fairly lame, and partially because they didn't have the girl with them.

                He waited, patiently, to find out why.

                "I cannot _believe _that woman!" Jean was flaring her nostrils when she got to him, where he was leaning on the Jeep. 

                Storm's lips were pressed into an irritated thin line, pale blue eyes narrowed. "Apparently, they've… _lost her."_

                Angry. He smelled it on both of them. 

                "What's that supposed to mean?" He inquired, opening the door for them to climb in, the making his way around to the driver's side. 

                "Just what they said—she's not where she should be. Apparently this happens often! What kind of care is that! She's just a kid!" The red-headed girl was tumbling into the back seat now, clenching her jaw and letting out her breath in irritated little half-sighs. 

                He hadn't seen her so upset before. Girl could face down Charles Xavier as a minion of Apocalypse, and a few nuns had her completely flustered.

                This only backed up his ingrained belief that nuns were inherently evil. He would've been amused, at any other time. 

                But not right now.

                "She's only two years younger than you, Jean," Ororo slid into her seat, in front beside Logan. "I'm sure she's fine. You said you contacted the Professor?"

                "Yes. She's in Montreal now," the younger woman pouted.

                Wordlessly, Logan started the Jeep and put it in gear. He shot Storm a look, sideways, and knew she caught it. He needed to know what was up. And now. This girl needed to be found.

                But before he could get his answers, Jean continued her rant from the back seat. "You should have _seen them, Wolverine. The way they crossed themselves when we asked about her! _Crossed themselves_, like she was the devil incarnate! School for girls my ass… more like the orphanage from hell. That poor girl, we _have_ to find her. Logan, do you know—,"_

                "The way to Montreal? Red, the_ jet_ is in Montreal. We came from there."

                She shot him a look that should have melted him from the back seat, straight into his rearview. 

                Perhaps how wasn't the best time to make jokes. 

                "Was it that bad?"

                Storm stared straight at the dashboard. "Oppressive does not begin to describe the atmosphere, Logan."

                "I don't understand why the Professor didn't find her sooner," Jean was muttering, still uncharacteristically flustered. "She's probably been living there three years with them looking at her like she's some kind of demon, if her powers showed up then. And the thirteen years before couldn't have been much better."

                "Charles does what he can," Storm sighed, running a thin hand through her silvery white mane distractedly, then rubbing at her temple, as if the place had given her a headache.

                She smelled uncomfortable. And her body… shoulders hunched, eyes closed… sad. It had made her sad, that place. 

                "It's been a rough year, Jeannie," He threw in, knowing damn well that he was not the one in this car who should be trying to cheer anyone up. But the women seemed so drained, he felt obligated to try. "Getting the school running, dealing with Magneto, the outing of the Institute as a mutant joint, Apocalypse…"

                He glanced into the rearview and saw that the redhead wasn't paying attention. She was mumbling to herself, using some very colorful adjectives, about the nuns at Madame DuPont's. 

                Jean was swearing. Ororo was brooding.

                He figured he'd better step on it and get them to Montreal before someone popped an embolism.

                And from the sound of things, the sooner they got the girl out of Quebec, the better.

                It was supposed to be painless. Hit the orphanage, find one Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, and bring her back to Bayville, if she'd consent. A mutant with super speed. She could also, apparently, fly.  

                It was turning out to be painful, however.

                Jean had focused in on her, recognizing her from some sort of telepathic impression passed on by the Professor—Logan didn't much care to know how they did that, or what their terminology was. He trusted Charles… but some things would always make him uneasy. Telepaths were at the top of the list. 

                And now here they were, in a smarmy fucking nightclub, wading through the push of sweaty, grinding twenty-somethings to find the girl. 

                He was half annoyed, half amused, really. Annoyed that he'd been forced to sink into this side of Montreal night life, the side that was overly offensive to his heightened senses. Of all the jazz clubs, of all the beer joints, of all the great bars the city had to offer, the girl had to pick some kind of irritating let's-go-out-get-sweaty-get-laid night club. The amusement came from the knowledge that if it'd been him stuck with a bunch of nuns for the first sixteen years of his life, he probably would've done the same. 

                _Logan__, she's near you. Check beside the door. I can see her now, but I can't get to her._

                He suppressed a shiver at the feeling of Jean brushing his mind, assuring himself it was only the outer-most limits of it, where she was touching. A picture in his mind now, a girl with long, black hair, a silver streak cutting through the middle of it, falling to one side. Thin, skin so white it changed color with the lights flashing around her. Red, green, purple. Pale blue eyes, shifting. 

                Using his formidable weight, since height never really put him at an advantage, he shouldered through the masses. He'd been trying not to touch them too much. The animal, drunken grinding around him, girls on top of girls, guys on top of them, on top of other guys, was like a frontal assault—a little too suggestive for him to be comfortable with. 

                Not that he was an animal, anymore. Just that he'd rather not get involved, even for a moment. And he'd been getting the "look" from more than one glaze-eyed twenty year old. Male _and female.  _

                He caught sight of the dark-haired teen just as she slipped through the door, out into the summer night. He followed, and after pushing past a few final obstacles—mostly kids—he reached the summer street… just in time to hear a scream.

                And he couldn't see Jeanne-Marie.

                Her scent was there, however, thick and feminine… and afraid.

                Around the corner. In the alley. 

                Something in him clicked, that primal thing he had, that he could call on. It could come unasked for too, of course. But this time he wanted it. 

                The man in the alley had her against the wall. Her eyes wide in terror. And she wasn't moving. 

                Like she didn't even know she had the power in her. 

                But she had to know… she had to know about her power, or they wouldn't. Hell, she couldn't have _gotten _here without it. 

                No time for thought, however, as he pounced on the man, threw his full weight into him, crashed to the ground with the entirety of his substantial, adamantium laced weight resting on the man's ribcage.

                He felt one crack, under him. And let up. Just a bit. "Picked the wrong girl to mess with, bub."

                The man squirmed, choked on his own spit. Tried to kick. Smelled like fear, like feral lust gone sour. The urge to impale the common criminal on his claws was damn near overwhelming. Fighting the thing inside of him now, willing it down. Willing the metal to stay inside of him. 

                A little moan, barely audible, but loud enough to his ears. He looked back to the girl against the wall, now curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her legs, which were drawn up to her chest. Shaking. 

                The fear coming off of her was so think it was painful. 

                Like she had no idea what she was.

                "I'm glad you've agreed to come and stay with us, Jeanne-Marie," the professor smiled at the new girl, shaking and clutching frantically at Jean's hand. 

                Jean gave her an encouraging smile, when the darker girl looked at her, almost as if she was asking for permission.       

                The girl still smelled like fear. She had since that scene in the back alley. In fact, she'd hardly stopped shaking. Quiet, introverted, and afraid. 

                How the fuck did a girl like that make it in a meat market nightclub? Of course, if he thought about it, she hadn't smelled so afraid when she'd been inside the club. Not until after, in the alley. But she was still afraid now, that much was clear. Logan was watching from the doorway to the office. When he'd tried to leave, to go upstairs to his room, she'd given him a look of such panic, he decided he'd better stay. Just for awhile. Maybe until she met some of the other kids. 

                "_Merci_," She finally whispered, lips barely parting. 

                Jean put one arm around her, protectively. "Professor, I was thinking she could stay with me, until she's more comfortable."

                The Professor raised an eyebrow, thoughtfully. Unnerving as hell, the way he did that. "That sounds fine Jean, if you don't mind sharing your new room."

                Red smiled at him, and Logan couldn't help but shake his head. When Jean Grey smiled, she got whatever she wanted. Didn't even need that telepathy. 

                Well, most of the time.

                "No, I think I'd love to."

                "Is that alright with you, Jeanne-Marie? Would you like to live with Jean, while she's here?"

                The girl looked up, into his eyes, meeting them for just a moment. Then flashing away, back to the floor. "_Oui, Monsieur._"

                Her English wasn't the best, that much he'd seen. She had a grip on it, could speak just fine. But her joual-laden accent proved well enough that her experiences with the language had probably been limited to the academic. 

                She had the look, the reactions, and the scent of an abandoned kitten. Like she'd been hurt. Scared. Bad. 

                Logan reconsidered going back to that orphanage school. Maybe he'd _like to give a few nuns a heart attack. _

                "I think you'll find that the students here are quite friendly," the Professor was smiling at her gently, using his most soothing tones. "And I hope you'll enjoy the chance to further explore your capabilities. This is a safe place, Jeanne-Marie. Feel free here."

                This time, the girl met his eyes bravely. And she smiled.

                He hadn't seen that, yet. 

                A breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding left him, and he leaned heavily on the door frame. Maybe the kid would be alright, after all. 

                "Thank you, _monsieur. _If they are like Jeanne, I am… I know I will like them."

                The longest sentence he'd heard from her yet. 

                Jean smiled at her, benevolently, and Logan saw her squeeze the girl's hand. "Let's go see the room, huh? And maybe meet some of the kids? Then I can show you around, how's that?"

                Still smiling, softly, like a pale little angel, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier smiled up at the taller girl followed her out of the room. Still clinging to her hand.

                Jean turned back and smiled at them before closing the door.

                And Xavier sighed, and leaned back in his chair heavily.

                Storm, who had been silent the entire interview, seated herself heavily on the leather couch just beside Logan, who was now leaning against the door. "Abuse," was all she said.

                Slowly, the Professor nodded. "I'm afraid so, Ororo. I did not scan her deeply, fearing for her fragility, but there is definite fragmentation of her psyche. And if the sisters reacted so strongly when you asked for her—,"

                But Ororo was already nodding her head, sadly, "They probably treated her like a demon. The girl is half-starved."

                "She's with us now," Xavier sounded determined, "And I sense a boisterous personality somewhere under the pain and fear. She will come around."

                "How'd the Canadian government let you bring her here anyhow, Charles?" Logan inquired, if only to turn the conversation in a different direction. He had no interest in the politics of what Xavier did, of course. But the idea of that girl… the way she'd been so afraid…

                Made him want to hurt something.

                "Connections," was the telepath's only answer.

                "I still don't understand what she was doing at a nightclub," Storm was wondering aloud now, shaking her head in awe of what they'd been through to get to the girl. "She's so shy, reserved."

                His sentiments exactly. "Was wonderin' that myself, Ro. And when the guy attacked her, she didn't move a muscle to save herself, even though she coulda' beaten him to a pulp before he blinked."

                The Professor shook his head, "It must have to do with her fragile condition. I sense something shifting in her, perhaps some kind of mental block. There _is _an aggressive, lively teenager in there. But her fear is covering it almost entirely. When she's more comfortable here, we will look into the issue. For now, I'd rather we simply allowed her to acclimatize. Jean will take care of her."

                Sensible. But then, Charles was rarely anything but.

                When he wasn't being impersonated or possessed, anyhow. 

                "Another issue has come to light surrounding her, however," Xavier tapped at his desk, where a magazine lay.

                Logan took the hint, and moved to pick the thing up. MacLean's. A somber face on the front, a young man, probably no more than sixteen. Dark hair, falling into pale blue eyes recklessly. A silver streak or two in the center. Elven ears. Pale face. His eyes darted to the headline, in red. 

                _Jean-Paul Martin and the Need for Speed_

And it occurred to him just who this young man looked exactly like. 

                He raised his eyebrows at the Professor and passed the rag to Storm, whose eyes widened at the sight of it. 

                "Down to the pointed ears, Chuck," Logan growled, appreciatively. "You think they're related?"

                The Professor nodded, "I believe so. I used Cerebro to locate him, in Toronto at the moment, and he does indeed have mutant powers, which he uses fairly frequently. Not dissimilar from our Jeanne-Marie's."

                Logan snorted, "Found a good use for 'em, looks like. Cheated his way to a gold medal this year, apparently."

                "Three, in fact," The Professor was smiling now.

                "His name is Martin," Storm spoke up now, flipping through the pages, "hers is Beaubier."

                "He was adopted, apparently, by a family called Martin. I searched for who his legal guardians are now, but there was no information forthcoming."

                She looked up at him now, "He's no longer with the Martins?"

                Xavier shook his head, "No. They died in an accident when he was six years old. Since then, there is a record of him bouncing from foster home to foster home, but the record falls short about four years ago."

                "Just when his power would have manifested, likely, if they're twins," Logan realized aloud.

                Nodding this time, Xavier agreed, "Yes, exactly. I've tried to contact him about the possibility of Jeanne-Marie being his sister, but he's… difficult to get in touch with." 

                Logan shook his head, smiling, "Well, if he's the latest Canadian heart throb, there's not much we can do about that." 

                Kids. Can't live with 'em… 

                Yeah. That was pretty much it. 


	3. Chapter Two: One of the Girls

**Chapter Two: One of the Girls** (Jean)

                Jean Grey bit her lip thoughtfully as she watched her new charge unpacking. Since they'd reached her room, the girl had been markedly more talkative. Well, answering questions with more than just a muttered _oui or __non, anyhow. But she couldn't shake the image of her in the X-Jet just yet. Eyes closed, clutching her arm hard. This was really the first time the girl had let her out of her grip in the past twelve hours, honestly._

                She was furious, really. Furious that anyone, especially someone so sweet, so gifted, as Jeanne-Marie Beaubier had been forced to exist in that world. That hateful, cruel world the sisters had created there. Treating her like she was a demon. A demon now, and before, nothing more than a homeless child to be pitied.

                Jean was, in general, a very level headed young woman. But at times, she really did feel like breaking things. She was a red head, after all.

                "Your room is very beautiful, Jeanne," The girl told her, turning around to smile at her again. "Thank you for letting me… share it with you."  Her accent tripped over the words a little, and she cocked her head thoughtfully at the pause. Her voice was soft, and her shoulders stooped. 

She was too thin, Jean thought to herself. Long bones with not nearly enough muscle covering them. But she was so beautiful. A sweet, rosebud mouth, feminine face, surrounded by those raven locks. Even the silver stripe in her hair. Simply gorgeous. Especially when she smiled. Actually, it even gave her a small twinge of something, looking at her. 

She knew it was jealousy, most likely. But she didn't really want to consider that. 

                "You're more than welcome, Jeanne-Marie," Jean assured her guest, returning the smile brightly. "So, do you want a tour of the Mansion?"

                Blinking for just a moment, the other girl nodded. "Please. It's so beautiful. I can… I can hardly believe it's my new…"

                "Home?" Jean finished, moving toward the door and waving for the darker girl to follow her. "It sure is. All the other students are probably dying to meet you, too."

                Jeanne-Marie paused then, just for a moment. 

                But Jean just smiled, encouragingly, she hoped. "Come on, they'll love you."

                Jeanne-Marie nodded, and followed her out of the room, without another moment's hesitation.

                It was hard not to wonder, sometimes, how she let herself be talked into such things.

                She glanced over at Scott, looking joyful as he always did when driving his beloved convertible on a nice sunny day. His head bobbed up and down to the music as he tried to sing along. 

                The boy could do a lot of things well. But singing was definitely not one of them.

                A glance to the back seat now, where Kitty, Kurt, Jeanne-Marie, and Rogue were squeezed in, as her mother would've said, "like a pack of sardines." Kurt was busily chatting to the new girl about school in Bayville, conveniently leaving out the recent difficulties of their being well-known mutants, thankfully, and Rogue and Kitty were attempting to shout over the pair of them about a party at someone-or-other's next week. 

                Jeanne-Marie, she was happy to note, was laughing happily at every other sentence the exuberant Nightcrawler uttered, her mouth hidden behind one delicate, long fingered hand.

                She'd oohed and ahhed over the entire mansion on their tour, and Jean practically had to pry 'Berto and Ray off her with a crowbar. And every passing minute, she seemed to lighten up more. Smiling. A sweet, sad kind of smile, like she was living in a dream. Happy, but thinking she'd wake up at any moment. 

                She felt a warm hand on hers, suddenly, and looked back to Scott. He was smiling, and spared her a quick glance, raising his eyebrows once, then turning back to the road. She locked her fingers into his and returned the smile happily. 

                And realized just why she let herself be talked into such things. Because sometimes, it felt good to be normal.

                "So what do you do, anyhow?" Rogue asked around a mouthful of cheese fries, leaning her elbow on the table lazily.

                Jean tried not to look too disapproving. The food court at the mall, she reminded herself, was hardly a proper dinner table anyhow.

                Jeanne-Marie swallowed her own food, having placed her napkin in her lap immediately and eating demurely enough to satisfy even Jean's mother, then cocked her head at the other girl. "How do you mean, what do I _do_?"

                "Ya know, like your powers," Rogue prompted, taking another fry on, "what makes you the latest recruit here at freak central."

                Jean elbowed the goth girl under the table for that one.

                The dark haired recruit looked undaunted. "I can fly," she decided, after a moment. "And move very fast. And sometimes, I can make light… but… I don't know the way I do it."

                "Wow," Kurt was nodding enthusiastically, grinning under his image inducer, "Flying, that's really cool!"

                Jeanne-Marie smiled at him, looking bashful again. 

                "Yeah!" Kitty added, "That's totally neat. How'd you figure that out anyhow?"

                The smile fell from her face. 

                Jean sucked in a quick breath.

                Everyone looked at Jeanne-Marie expectantly.

                Slowly, the smile returned, this time mildly mischievous. Pale blue eyes found Kitty's again. "A very funny accident?" She made it into a question, her voice rising up at the end. Combined with the look on her face, it was so funny it was actually cute.

                The rest of the table seemed to find it amusing too, as the girls giggled, and the boys smiled at the new girl stupidly. 

                They apparently agreed with her diagnosis of "cute."

                "I can't imagine what kind of accident that would cause that," Kurt was obviously amusing himself with ideas.  

                Jeanne-Marie simply smiled at him again, and took another bite of her baked potato. 

                "So you speak French? Can you help me with my homework? I was totally thinking of picking it up as a subject," Kitty was sucking the last of the coke from the bottom of her glass. Irritatingly loud. 

                The dark-haired girl nodded, swallowed, and replied. "I can try. My French is a little different, but we studied it at Madame's."

                "Oh girl," Kitty linked her arm with Jeanne-Marie's happily, "We are gonna be best friends!"

                As the conversation continued, Jean allowed herself to lightly connect with the new girl's mind. Nothing deep of course. Just to get a sense of how she was feeling. Her face had fallen so quickly when they'd asked how she discovered her powers, it had honestly scared her. But now, as she squeezed Kitty's arm in her own, as her eyes looked less and less at her food and more and more at the other kids, she seemed happier than ever before. 

                A creeping confidence. That was what she felt. Like some kind of wall was breaking down inside the girl. Like she was waking up from a long sleep. 

                Jean felt a lump in her throat, thinking about it again. Seventeen years old. Repressed and hurt.

                But what the hell had she been doing at that night club?

                "Well if it isn't freaks on parade."

                Just a nameless face in the crowd. A jock.

                Jean cringed, thinking of Duncan. 

                Kitty, for her part, settled for flipping the offender the bird.

                "Cute, Kit," Scott said, halfheartedly. 

                "Well, I'm sick of these jerk-offs," the girl was suddenly despondent, a huge switch after her lively display at the shoe store, bouncing from rack to rack with Jeanne-Marie looking for new tennis shoes for the girl. "They don't even care that if it weren't for us their asses would be fried."

                "That's not the way to think about it—,"

                Kurt held up a hand in Scott's face now, as he held the door for them, "Talk to the hand, man. No fearless leader allowed in the mall, thank you very much." 

                Scott just shook his head and shrugged at her, helpless. 

                Jeanne-Marie laughed outright. 

                Kurt looked immensely pleased. 

                "You guys have everything you need, or can we go home now? It's almost closing time."

                Rogue shrugged, now walking beside Jeanne-Marie, looking a little listless. "Whatever. Ah'm done."

                Jeanne-Marie clutched her bags, containing new shoes, two pair of jeans, soccer shorts, and a stack of extremely cute tank tops and little t-shirts the girls had fretted over while the boys looked in the video game store. "I think I have enough to last me years. Thank you so much… I don't know what to say."

                The first time she'd spoken up without being spoken to directly.

                Kurt draped an arm over her fragile shoulders, almost protectively. Perhaps remembering what it had been like, when he'd turned up. Wrapped in that cloak. Scared and… well, fuzzy. "Hey, you don't have to thank anyone around here. We're a family, right?"

                Kitty took the girl's arm now, taking her bags and handing them to Scott, who was on her other side, rude jock utterly forgotten. "Right. So listen, how do you feel about parties?"

                Scott took the bags immediately, without question.

                Jean was impressed. He really didn't need a whole lot of training.

                And he was one of the biggest reasons leaving Bayville was going to hurt so much, in September. 

                But she tried not to think about that, and to follow the happy chatter of her friends in front of her. 

                By eleven o'clock, she barely recognized the Jeanne-Marie trying on clothes for her as the one she'd scooped off the ground in a back alley in Montreal. 

                "Do you think it looks good?" She questioned, doing a quick spin for the girls in the room to model one of the adorable little tank tops they'd chosen for her.

                Kitty nodded, with a low whistle Jean had only heard coming from very dirty, very old construction workers previous to that moment. "Very sexy, girl!"

                Even Rogue was smiling at her, "Looks great. Black is a good color for you."

                Yes. Rogue _would_ think that.

                "We could never wear this at Madame's," the Canadian girl raised her eyebrows at herself in Jean's full length mirror, putting a hand on her hip saucily. 

                "Well, there's always your clubbing clothes," Jean chuckled, thinking of the backless red shirt she'd been barely wearing when they found her.

                The girl's cheeks went red. "I should not have worn the thing…"

                Jean's stomach dropped. Wrong thing to say, apparently. "Oh no, I think it's pretty," she tried to cover.

                "Let's see it!" Kitty insisted, bouncing down on the bed happily.

                Jeanne-Marie turned to look at her, biting her lip, and hesitated for a moment. Then, very suddenly, smiled brightly and went to her dresser, pulling out the silky thing and holding it up to her chest.

                "Whooooa," Rogue laughed, "bet you look like a million bucks in that, sugah."

                The darker girl flushed again, but kept smiling. "You like it?"

                "Sexy girl!" Kitty giggled. "Where'd you get that?"

                Jeanne-Marie suddenly stopped flushing and simply grinned at them, throwing the shirt onto the bed, next to Kitty. "I got out, and used my powers to get me to the city. Once I was there… I can move so fast, no one ever noticed."

                Jean repressed a need to scold her. The girl was clearly mentally abused by those sisters. If she wanted to become a petty thief, who could really fault her? Really.

                "Oh wow, a life of danger too. You are all kinds of mysterious, Beaubier," Kitty butchered the last name. Particularly for someone who claimed to want to enroll in French next year. 

                "A girl has to do something for fun, _non_?" She smiled at them sweetly, and struck another pose.

                Jean caught herself yawning about fifteen minutes into the conversation later. 

                "Alright Jean, we get the hint. We'll go so you can sleep," Rogue rolled her eyes and took Kitty by the arm, pulling her to standing.

                Biting back a rude comment, Jean forced a smile at her. "It's fine Rogue. If you guys want to hang out some more—,"

                "I'm feeling tired as well," Jeanne-Marie admitted. "I would like some sleep."

                Kitty nodded sympathetically, "It's been a crazy couple of days for you. We'll hang out tomorrow though. God, summer is the best."

                They talked a few more moments about freedom, and the possibility of overthrowing the school's fascist dictatorship, but Jean did, finally, get the satisfaction of locking the door behind them.

                Without meaning to, she sighed. 

                "They are very nice girls," her new roommate commented, shifting out of her new tank top and into a night shirt quickly, while Jean searched for hers in the closet. "Very different from the girls I know. Thank you for… the shopping."

                Absentmindedly, Jean noticed that her accent seemed less pronounced now that she was relaxed. Perhaps it was psychosomatic.

                Or perhaps she was just really damn tired. 

                She changed into her night shirt without turning around, "Yeah, they are good girls. The boys are nice too, they just take getting used to."

                The other girl giggled, the sound of her footsteps moving toward the bed, "I like the boys too."

                "I think they like you too," Jean caught herself laughing, despite the utter exhaustion she felt in her limbs, in her head. And god, her back. She slid in beside the smaller girl and took a deep breath, resting on her back now. 

                Clean sheets. Nothing in the world felt as good as clean sheets, some times. 

                "Hope you don't mind sharing the bed," She commented offhand. It didn't matter much to her, the bed was big enough to fit three people comfortably. But considering the girl's mental state…

                "I think I would be lonely if you weren't with me," Jeanne-Marie admitted, suddenly very close to her, on her side, facing her.

                Jean froze. Was this the custom in Quebec or something…? "Uh… did you always have to share a bed before?"

                The girl seemed utterly unaffected. Her tone was guileless, her words frank, and far more open than Jean had come to expect from her. "_Oui_¸ very often. So many girls and so little room. Sometimes, it feels like you will… die because there is no air. Do you understand?"

                She could still feel Jeanne-Marie, unnecessarily close. But she reached out with her mind and found nothing to be concerned about in the other girl. Just an uncertain sort of contentment. And an affection for her. Confusion. Nothing to be alarmed about. Calm down, Grey. "Like you'll suffocate, you mean."

                "_Oui_," she replied, now moving closer and draping one fragile arm over Jean's midsection. 

                Again, she froze. Stunned with the familiarity. With the shameless need for affection in the girl. 

                When she unfroze, she realized it was just that. Familiarity and affection. Two things Jeanne-Marie Beaubier probably had felt very few times in her life. 

                Jean forced herself to relax, and put her own hand on the other girl's arm, patting it gently. Maternally. "Yes, I understand."

                "When I fly," she whispered, almost inaudible now, her breath gentle against Jean's ear, "I don't feel afraid."

                Jean felt a lump form in her throat now. And felt very guilty for her recent suspicions involving this poor sweet girl's intentions. She gave her arm a squeeze, hoping it was reassuring, and looked over at her. Her eyes were closed. Her pretty face angelic. 

                It made her want to cry, for some reason. "You can fly all you like, here, Jeanne-Marie."

                She smiled, slightly. "I would like that."

                Jean watched her for a moment, and then looked back up at the ceiling. Heart heavy and full. Jeanne-Marie was half woman, the woman she'd seen in the night club, dancing with utterly random men, unafraid, uncaring, and half child. Her arm wrapped around Jean like she was a teddy bear. And that's all it was. She needed the warmth, the reassurance of another human being. An anchor.

                Slowly, the other girl's breathing became regular, drawn out. The breath of someone fast asleep.

                Jean closed her eyes, squeezing the trusting arm across her stomach once again. And fell asleep with her.


	4. Chapter Three: Reunion

**Chapter Three: ****Reunion (Jean-Paul)**

                He did not enjoy going into a situation at a disadvantage.

                And that, he had decided, was exactly what was happening today. 

                First, this man calls. Says he knows about his little "abilities," and wants to help him. Then, he tells him he has a sister. 

                A sister.

                The thought… made something nameless inside him ache. His knees weak.

                Jean-Paul Martin had nothing and no one. He never had. He'd been certain he never would.

                _Who needs love when you have fame?_

                The thought rattled around in his head, bitter, empty. Some kind of sick little mantra he'd given himself to chant, in times of need. The irony of the need versus the mantra made him laugh. Cynically, albeit. But he took what he could get.

                But wasn't it possible? After all, what did he know of his own life? It was no surprise, that the Martins were not his real parents. He had not known them long, he could barely remember them. They  certainly had not made much of an impression. 

                And what came after them… 

                He didn't think of it, too much. He liked to simply tell people that he'd found his own way. He often left out the stories of his antics, his petty crimes, and his generally infuriating behavior at whichever foster home he landed in. 

                All that mattered, once he learned how, was skiing. 

                And then, the damned… mutation kicked in. Taking the joy out of it. The pure, clean feeling of the track, of knowing he'd won. 

                Won fairly.

                Was it even possible for him to win fairly, any more?

                He didn't know. But he had a horrible sinking sensation every time someone took his picture. The feeling that they _knew. And they would never forgive him. _

                Everyone loves an idol. But when they're put on such a high pedestal… it's a long way to fall.

                Jean-Paul Martin (Martin! But that wasn't even his name!) had a long way to fall, as things stood.

                And he'd been fooled too many times in his seventeen long years not to feel as if he was walking into a trap, when the door opened before him.

                "Your sister is rather delicate, Jean-Paul," The bald father-figure was informing him, sitting in that metallic contraption that looked more like a weapon than a wheelchair. "Her experience at the girls' school has left her with a few mental blocks. We are working with her to conquer them, and I feel meeting you would be the best thing for her."

                Jean-Paul stood, staring at him, by the window in the library. Refusing to sit. He knew his face was composed, cold. But his stomach was on fire.

                A sister. His twin. 

                Why did it ache when he thought of it?

                "Where is she?"

                The man smiled at him, kindly. He barely noticed. "She's been sent for. Jean will bring her down."

                "Beaubier…" He muttered aloud. That was his name, wasn't it? Jean-Paul Beaubier.

                "Yes, your parents were called Beaubier," the older man affirmed, unnecessarily. 

                Normally, he would have informed him that it was unnecessary. Today, he just stared. Chewed at his bottom lip, distractedly. "You have custody of her now?"

                Xavier paused, as if taken aback.

                He was used to that reaction. People never expected a seventeen year old to be as businesslike as he was. He enjoyed their discomfort, normally. 

                Today, he was too nervous.

                "Yes, I've had her custody transferred to the school here."

                "She speaks joual, _non? Shouldn't she be in a francophone school somewhere?" He knew there was a hard edge to his voice, on that one. Certainly, he skied for Canada. But that was only because Canada paid the bills. He was, at heart, Québécois. _

                "Jeanne-Marie's special needs as a mutant can be taken care of here. This is a safe place, Jean-Paul. We work together here, toward the goal of peaceful co-existence with the rest of humanity. We hope that by protecting them, they will come to understand us as human, just like them."

                Irritated. Impatient. He ran a hand through his dark hair, forcing himself to hold still otherwise. This waiting. It made him want to run. To fly. 

                He rarely let himself fly. But he could. And it felt good.

                "It seems to me, _monsieur_, that by singling yourselves out as a mutant organization, you only serve to separate yourselves from the human population."

                Xavier only smiled at that. 

                And it irritated him even further.

                "Some things happen before we're ready for them. Perhaps you'll see what I mean, about developing mutant capabilities, while you're here."

                But he wasn't listening. Because he heard voices in the hallway. Getting nearer.

                _It's her. _

                She came through the doorway first. Long, dark hair, tucked behind pointed ears. Fragile, small form. Easily as tall as he. Gentle smile. 

                His heart stopped. 

                His sister.

                Her eyes, the exact same pale blue, caught his. And her smile widened. "_Mon frère_!"

                Haltingly, he took a few steps. But she was in front of him before he knew it, smiling. Smiling with a feminine version of his own face. Beautiful and strange. A haze settled over him, over his mind, and he could think of nothing to say. These people, watching. He didn't even care. ::My sister… I can hardly believe it…:: he finally managed, in proper joual.

                Smile, so bright. ::Look at us!::

                He nodded, his heart beating double, triple time, as it did so often when some emotion overcame him, or when he pushed too hard. Blood pounding in his ears. ::I never knew… they didn't tell me.::

                ::I was not told either, brother. Until I came to this place. We have so much to talk about.::

                He looked down and saw that she held a hand out to him.

                Feeling as if he were in slow motion, as if it were somehow a very heavy action, he reached out for her.

                And when they touched, something happened. He took her hand in his, and the entire room lit up, in a flash of blazing white.

                He blinked, and it was over. 

                And he suddenly felt very awake. More awake than he had in his entire life. Their eyes locked, something silent passing between them. An understanding he did not have words for. 

                His sister. His twin. 

                The thing that had been missing. The ache. It was gone now.

                And they smiled, together. 

                "Well…," Xavier was saying, from beside them now, "that was… unexpected."

                Suddenly, he found that he held his sister, Jeanne-Marie, in his arms, and she was laughing joyfully in his ear. Stunned, he finally took a look at the two other people in the room. A tall red-head, who appeared to be sniffling a little. And a slim, grinning boy with red sunglasses. Both perhaps a little older than he.

                But the view blurred, as he felt his eyes fill with salt water. And he held his sister a little tighter.

                "I guess you're lucky," the tall boy with the shades was telling him now, as he helped him carry his bags up to the room. "You get to have your own room. The younger guys will all be jealous."

                Jean-Paul, for his part, had money. He hadn't become a super star athlete without making a little on the exposure it offered. Even if he couldn't get to most of it for a few years, it was nice to know it was there. But this house… it was _far _beyond anything he could've afforded. 

                Which was a lucky thing, since he didn't plan on leaving any time soon. Not as long as she was here.

                "You'll like it here," Scott, that was his name, continued, as if he'd already given some kind of reply. "It gets pretty crazy sometimes, but it's nice not to have to worry about using your powers, or being looked at funny by anyone."

                "I don't get looked at funny," he said, for no particular reason.

                The boy raised an eyebrow at him. "No, I guess not. You're famous right?"

                Jean-Paul sniffed, "For my fifteen minutes, I suppose."

                Scott laughed, easily. "So no funny looks? Not even for the ears?"

                The dark haired boy turned an icy glare on his companion. He _liked_ his ears.

                Still laughing, the other held up his hands in surrender, "Ok, ok. It works for your sister, so I'm sure it works for you."

                He furrowed his brow, "How do you mean, it works for my sister?"

                "The guys dig it. Girls probably dig yours," Scott shrugged, dropping the suitcase to push open the door to his new room.

                Jean-Paul had no comment for that. 

                The girls generally _did like the ears. _

                He just didn't generally care too much for the girls, was the thing.

                And now he was in a bad mood again. Great. Here at the freak house, he would still be a freak. 

                But Jeanne-Marie was here. His sister. 

                Something else was aching in him now, but not that same kind of empty thing. It was almost a good ache, really.

                "So what's your story anyhow? You're a gold medallist, I know. We saw you on TV. How'd that happen?"

                Jean-Paul was surprised to realize that Scott had made himself comfortable on his bed, and was now looking at him expectantly from behind those ruby sunglasses. "Don't know. I showed promise, I suppose, at a very early age. My instructor took a liking to me, set me up with private classes. By the time I was thirteen…," and he trailed off there, shrugging it off. 

                It made him sad to think about it. He'd been so happy, then. For the first time in his life, it seemed that something was going his way.

                It felt like he'd lived a lifetime since.

                He busied himself with putting away clothes, mostly to avoid the other boy catching the traitorous look on his face. He was a little too overwhelmed, at the moment, to be entirely in control of his body language and expression. It was something he was working on, however. 

                "Already an international superstar, huh?" Scott seemed to find nothing amiss, and was still asking him, the smile present in his voice, even if Jean-Paul could not see it.

                He wondered, bitterly, if the guy was always this insufferably cheerful.

                But he didn't have the heart to tell him to leave. For some reason. "Canadian, anyhow."

                Scott laughed again. Easy. Like he did it all the time. "More than we see around here, usually."

                Feeling that his face had finally composed itself, he turned to face the other boy and let his powers float him up onto the dresser, applying just the right amount of thrust to levitate himself easily, and sat on top of it. "Is that so? I'm pretty sure I saw your faces on TV once or twice."

                The face the older teen pulled was nothing short of comedic, scrunching up his nose in distaste. "Yeah, and that's something we should tell you about. Since that whole thing, with the Sentinels, and with Magneto setting us up like that--,"

                "Magneto?" Jean-Paul arched an upswept eyebrow, an amused half smile on his face. 

                "Yeah, I know, dumb name," Scott shook his head and laughed, "but he's powerful. _Real_ powerful. And he has this mutant superiority complex. He staged that whole thing to out us, here at the Institute, and all over really, as mutants, so we'd be forced to band together."

                He could see where this was going. And wondered just what the hell he was getting himself into. "Against humanity, you mean…"

                Again, the boy nodded at him, "Yes. Us versus them. I mean, he's apparently not about killing them all… he's had his chances. But that's not what we do here. We try to use our powers responsibly, in the hope that the rest of the world will see us for what we really are, just people. Especially now that we're… out of the closet."

                Jean-Paul arched that eyebrow again at the turn of phrase. And couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he "came out of the closet" right now. Would this fabulous little hero jump off his bed in alarm and take to his heels, or would he simply sit and stare slack-jawed?

                Something perverse in him really wanted to try it.

                But the urge died, as his thoughts returned to the heavy issues at hand. "So… now you simply try and exist… and train as a sort of… freak show crime fighting team?"

                He'd hit a nerve. Scott's jaw clenched, and he suddenly looked much older. And very in command. "We're not freaks. And neither are you."

                Jean-Paul sighed. "Lovely attitude, _mon ami, but you'd really have a lot of work to do to prove to me that things are otherwise. I've been a freak for too long not to recognize my own sort."_

                Scott just shook his head, "There's more to it than that. And I hope you'll stick around long enough to see that for yourself."

                "I'll be here as long as she is."

                "Alright kid," the surly beast seemed to growl at him, "This is the part of yer training ya may not find quite so fun as the Danger Room."

                Jean-Paul stood, arms crossed over his chest, in the dark blue standard issue training uniform of the New Mutants. Because of his excellent control of his super speed capabilities, honed so carefully while in training on the slopes at home, he'd been immediately bumped to the X-Men team proper with his sister—whose superior flight capabilities had landed her there within a week of arriving. Granted, they were on a sort of… probation. Particularly his sister, who had apparently garnered some suspicion with her fragile mental state upon arrival. But that fragility in her had seemingly vanished by now, and the Professor seemed to think that they should work together.

                The two of them had done rather well at a game of team defend-the-fort only today, in fact, falling only to the combined efforts of Cyclops and Shadowcat, long after the other two teams had been done in. Not only did they generate blinding flashes of light when in contact with one another, but they also seemed to augment each other's powers, becoming faster and stronger when in contact. After only a few days together, they had discovered, and mastered, much that neither of them had ever dreamed they were capable of.

                But he had little training in hand to hand combat.

                And he was not looking forward to this sweaty, hairy man before him teaching him the ropes. 

                This was definitely going to hurt.

                "Rules first," Mr. Logan stood, leaning on one of the pillars in the matted gymnasium. Rogue and Kitty were nearby, working out on the uneven bars and the horse, respectively. Or pretending to, anyhow. They seemed to turn up everywhere he went, for the past few days. And he had a bad feeling they were there to watch him.

                Which normally, he wouldn't have minded. If he wasn't about to get his ass kicked. Not that he felt the need to impress girls so much as that his pride bruised rather too easily, and he would much rather the room was entirely empty when it happened. As it inevitably would.

                At least dark blue was a good color on him.

                "Rule number one," the man continued, "No hittin' below the belt."

                Solemnly, Jean-Paul nodded. "I wouldn't dream of it."

                "Good. Rule number two, no usin' yer powers. This is about learnin' how to defend yourself and disarm an opponent in a worst case scenario. It's not about kickin' some kid's ass at school, got it?"

                Knowing he looked a perfect smart ass, he only raised an eyebrow. Did the man think he was daft?

                "Rule number three… relax. I'd tell ya this ain't gonna hurt, but it probably is. Think of it as tough love."

                Tough love indeed. He spent the next two hours learning stances, approaches, and generally having the shit kicked out of him. 

                He wouldn't have bruises, of course. Mr. Logan, despite appearances, was a gentle teacher. But he would definitely feel it in the morning. 

                Without looking over at the girls, who were now simply sitting in the corner of the gym, he picked up his towel, wiped it across his face, and prepared to head to the showers to lick his wounds. 

                Alas, that was not to be. "Hey, JP! Got a minute?"

                He turned to see Rogue waving at him, and Kitty staring at her in what appeared to be dismay.

                He sighed. These were his sister's friends. He should at least try to know them. 

                So, he started to their side of the gym, slowly. "A minute yes, but not much air left in me."

                "Spendin' that much time on your ass does that to ya, huh tiger?" Rogue gave him a strange little half-smile.

                He knew the girl was probably the best martial artist in the lot, which was saying quite a bit. But for some reason, it didn't sound like an insult coming from her. Which was also saying quite a lot, since nearly everything sounded like an insult, to his ears. "So it would seem."

                "Ah watched you practicin' in here earlier. You're a really great gymnast." 

                Kitty shifted uncomfortably, and he moved his eyes over to the ponytailed brunette. She fidgeted under his long stare for a moment.

                He loved doing that, for some reason. He wasn't really certain when he'd realized he had the capability to make people, male and female, so self-conscious with just his eyes. But that perverse thing in him liked it. 

                He smiled at her though, after only a second, and returned his attention to the goth girl. "I studied, before I came here. For ski jumps. We trained on the bars."

                "I was thinkin'," Rogue shrugged, taking him by the arm and leading him over to the uneven bars, "maybe we could make a deal. You show me how you do those crazy dismounts, and I show you how to fight."

                He was, to put it mildly, taken back. 

                Not that he minded the suggestion. In fact, it sounded like a good trade to him. It was just, from what he'd seen, the girl was hardly this outspoken. Quiet, brooding. Kind of like him, really. "Is this why you've been following me since I got here, Rogue?" He grinned.

                She bumped into him with a hip, and grinned back. "What, you think just cause you got pointy ears _all the girls here are gonna be crushin' on you? Think again, elf-boy."_

                And he laughed. For what felt like the first time in a long time. "Consider it a deal, _mon ami_." 

                "Great. We start tomorrow."

                "How's eight AM?"

                She made a face of horror at him, her purple painted lips forming a perfect round "o." "Are you crazy, flyboy?! Not a chance! After lunch, before dinner!"

                Another half-laugh, this time for her expression, and he pushed his sweat soaked hair out of his eyes. "Fine, fine. It's not as if we have much else to do around here."

                "There's a party, in a few days."

                They both turned to look at Kitty now, their arms unlinking. 

                She smiled at them hopefully.

                Cute, he thought. "Well, that will be something different," he shrugged. "They don't mind mutants around here? I'd heard there were… difficulties, _non_?" 

                Rogue shrugged, "It's a friend's house. Jeanne-Marie already has her outfit picked out. Wait till you see her."

                His brow furrowed. She hadn't mentioned any party to him. "Well, let me know, I suppose. For now, I think I should…," he looked down at himself disdainfully, "shower. I can hardly stand to be around myself."

                Kitty giggled.

                Rogue grinned.

                Jean-Paul nearly sighed.

                "See ya later, then, flyboy," The goth wiggled her fingers at him and gathered her friend up to go out the door, while he headed to the showers, shaking his head.

                "See, ah told ya he wasn't scary. He's just quiet!" Rogue was whispering a little too loudly as he opened the door to the locker rooms.

                He closed the door quickly, so he wouldn't have to hear the other girl's reply to that. 


	5. Chapter Four: Of a Sinister Nature

**Chapter Four: Of a Sinister Nature**(Riptide)

                Janos Quested kicked flopped his muddy boots up onto the antique stone table in the "reception hall." As if he had no idea what the word "antique" implied.

                He did, of course. He was not a complete idiot. 

                He just didn't give a fuck.

                He flipped a shuriken out of his leather vest, and started throwing it into the air nonchalantly. Part of the act. The cool, assassin act. The act that had gotten him this deal in the first place.

                "You're going to break something," the green-haired witch who'd only introduced herself as Vertigo sneered at him. 

                She was always sneering about something. 

                When this job was done, he would love to find out just what it was inside of her that made her so goddamn sour all the time. Maybe she was green on the inside. He was sure he could find out. A quick spin, and a few spikes, and disemboweling always ensued.

                For now, he ignored her, and continued flipping his flashing throwing-star into the air haphazardly, catching it with two fingers in the center of its flat sides when it came back down, and twitching his wrist just a little and releasing to send it flying again. 

                Vertigo. What a fucking stupid code name. 

                Course, it was better than Blockbuster. The big lug couldn't even do anything great. He was just… big. And cosmically fucking stupid, apparently. Or Harpoon. Honestly, _Harpoon?_

                What was this, Moby fucking Dick?

                Riptide, however. _That was a cool code name._

                "Where _is_ he," the witch hissed again, pacing behind the couch he was sunken into. 

                "He said he'd be here," Harpoon leveled a dangerous glare in her direction, polishing one of his horrific projectiles. 

                Like he wanted to remind them all what it was he could do with those things.

                Riptide flipped his shuriken in the air once more, just for good measure. 

                "My Marauders…"

                The voice echoed through the hall before the shadow of the man became evident.

                If he was even a man. Janos had doubts about the likelihood of that. No, this dude was something else altogether. Something off the fucking scale. 

                His voice was still bouncing around the cavernous stone chamber when he stepped into the light. Torch light. 

                Torch light, in a castle, in England.

                How bloody strange was this guy, anyhow?

                He was only half into the light really. But the silhouette of his Dracula-inspired high pointed collar and trailing cape was just as impressive in the dark as it was in living color. Perhaps more so, really.

                Riptide could appreciate that. Drama served its purposes. He could probably learn a lot, working with this guy.

                And the money was good, anyhow. Which was really the important thing.

                "I have a little job for you."

                "So we heard," Vertigo snapped.

                The boss turned his face, so that it was suddenly caught in the flickering firelight. Steely. Square. Eyes glowing. 

                Na. Not a chance that he was human. Or mutant, probably. Off the fucking scale.

                Vertigo shut up, anyhow, which was another important thing.

                "Twins," he finally spoke, after his glowing eyes had bored into the witch long enough to satisfy him. "Follow me to the lab, and I'll show you who I want. You are to bring them to me within two weeks time. You know the price if you fail."

                And with a swish of his cape, Sinister was turned around and heading down a dark hallway.

                Janos Quested found himself leaping to his feet, shuriken forgotten.


	6. Chapter Five: Wound Up

AN: Now that I've revealed my villain, a few notes about that.

The name Mr. Sinister is ridiculous. I'm calling him Sinister. Cause I can.

Also, I realize there are more Marauders, etc. But I'm not about to do a Mutant Massacre story. I figure that'll probably come up soon enough, on the show, considering the thing they've set up with the Moorlocks. Or maybe not, considering the painful nature of it, and that it requires an awful lot of character death and disfiguration. I will, however, resist my initial impulse to throw in yet another character and let Angel kick the shit out of Harpoon. I promise. 

Also, not dealing with the Apocalypse origin issue. Sinister is just the villain, and they don't know a thing about him. And, to be honest, I don't feel like bothering with it. More interested in the kids.

**Chapter Five: Wound Up **(Wanda)

                "Pietro, _stop_!" She boomed, reaching out her hand, blue power cracking around it, and sent a weak hex bolt directly into the blurring image of her brother.

                Pietro had no choice, at that point, _but to stop._

                And Todd, who had been bounding along after him, trying to slime him, ran right into him, knocking them both to the floor in a tumbling mass of silver hair and slime. 

                Wanda Maximoff sighed, a very loud, quick rush of air out of her, and turned back to watching television.   

                  "Get offa me, frog!" Her twin squeaked, still immobilized, an utterly horrified expression on his face as he stared at the boy on top of him.

                Toad just smiled, and sat down on the older boy's chest. "Thanks, sweetums."

                Wanda ignored him, and _tried to watch TV. _

                "How would you like it if I trapped _you under this slime-ball Wanda?!" Pietro was protesting, regaining enough mobility now to jerk just a little._

                She knew it would make him insane to be so unable to move. It was what he did.

                And she was going to enjoy it while it lasted.   Perhaps it would make her feel better.

                She was in a sulk. 

                Not that this differed much from any other day. She could not honestly remember the last time she _hadn't been in a sulk. But this time, it was different._

                They'd defeated him. Saved him. Saved the world.

                And here they were. Stuck in this house, with these losers. 

                Fuck adults. And fuck her father. 

                "Wandaaaaaaaa!" 

                And, "Fuck you, Pietro."

                With that, she stood, dropped the remote control, and stomped up to her room. Hopefully, it would be the one place she could get some goddamn peace and quiet around here.

                It's only a matter of time. That's what he'd said to them. A matter of time before he could gather his forces again, and they would all be together. He just needed to think, to regroup, to decide on a plan of action. And then, he would send for them.

                What he sent for them was a check. Enough to pay for the rent, food, and bills for the next six months. Easily. 

                And they hadn't seen him since.

                Wanda flopped down onto her bed, unceremoniously, and kicked off her heavy boots, getting a strange kind of satisfaction from the loud thump of them on the ground.

                She didn't need her father, of course.

                She didn't need any of them.

                It was just that… she didn't know where else to go.

                Sometimes, it felt like she'd been angry for so long, she hadn't felt anything else. Nothing. She could hardly even remember all those years. 

                She _couldn't _remember them, really. Nothing, before coming here. And things really hadn't been all that fucking fantastic here, either. Four boys, one of them her obnoxious, perpetually caffeinated, turncoat of a brother, to annoy her. A lot of family drama, a few superhero hoaxes, and something vaguely resembling a narrow miss at Armageddon. 

                And where the hell was she supposed to go from here?

                And why the hell should she care?

                She stared up at the ceiling, and tried to clear her mind. Just… get rid of it all. The problem was, she had so damn much of it… whatever _it _was, though she suspected it might be angst, it was impossible to know where to begin. 

                Knock-knock-knock. 

                She squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the urge to let the power in her loose. To let it rip through the room and level her furniture.

                She lost entirely too much furniture that way.

                "Who… is it?" She asked, through clenched teeth. 

                It was obvious who it was. No one else knocked that fast.

                "It's your loving brother."

                "Fuck off."

                "Wandaaaaaaa."

                God, what a whiner. "What do you want Pietro?"

                "Quality time with my sister."

                She snorted at that, and stood to go to the door, knowing how persistent the wretch could be, when he decided. She jerked the thing open and stared at him. Standing there, hands on his hips.

                Peter fucking Pan.

                "What do you want?" She asked again.

                He pushed past her, right into her room, and flopped himself onto her bed. She noticed it was the same exact flop she had perfected. And tried to pretend it wasn't.

                "You seem upset!"

                "Rocket scientist. I can't believe someone as brilliant as you _ever _had trouble in school," she commented dryly, turning to face him and crossing her arms over her chest, defensively. 

                Pietro sat up quickly, though not inhumanly quickly, and grinned at her. "School is slow."

                "_Everything _is slow to you," she snorted.

                "Notmyfaultthey'reslow!"

                She hated when he did that. He did _not have to talk so fast, and she knew it. _

                The little sicko thought it was funny. 

                But before she could even get warmed up enough to send him out of the room on the end of her foot, his face changed. The corners of his mouth turned downward and he sighed. "You're mad about dad."

                Her brow furrowed. And she found she couldn't speak. 

                She _wanted _to get angry. But couldn't. 

                "He's a fucking liar," she managed to spit, after a few minutes.

                He only shrugged, "You're telling me. Look, forget it. We thought it was gonna be something, and it's not. Get over it, move on, life is too short."

                She rolled her eyes at him. "Look, thanks for the pep talk, bro, but—,"

                "Aw, Jesus, Wanda," he rolled his eyes right back at her. "I know it seemed like I didn't give a fuck when we thought he was dead—,"

                Now _she _interrupted him, "You _didn't_."

                He pretended not to hear her, "but the fact is that he's never going to be a father to us, so just suck it up and deal with it, huh? You don't even _like _him, remember?"

                "You didn't even want to go and save him from Apoca—,"

                "Save it!" He said quickly, holding up one hand. Or rather, blurring a bit, and his hand was suddenly held high in the air. "I did anyway. And I saved your ass too, if I do recall."

                Wanda bit down on her lip, hard.

                "Kitty's downstairs," He said, with his usual disregard for anyone else's train of thought. 

                She sighed. She still did not trust the X-Men. But they had done the right thing. And they had saved her father… fuck her father, they had saved the world. 

                And she did like Kitty Pryde, for some reason. 

                "Wants us all to go to some party. Well ok, she wants _Lance _to go. But still where he goes, we go!"

                "You need to get a life, bro," she sniffed, suddenly less irritated with him. 

                "Hey, I have a life. It's just that, I live so fast, I need three or four to keep me busy."

                Wanda had a moment of silence, to commemorate the monumental stupidity of Amanda Sefton.

                Or, perhaps, of Amada Sefton's mother and father, who had gone out of town and left the house to their daughter.

                Who was having a mutant-friendly bash.

                Who was smiling at Wanda, right now. "Glad you could come guys!" Her puppy dog brown eyes smiled at them, fearlessly. 

                Wanda rolled her eyes. There was no way this night could possibly end with the house still standing. Most of the X-Men, those old enough to break free for the night, but not so old as to have graduated (god forbid they be seen at a _high school_ party) were strewn about the living room, up the stairs, and in the kitchen. Regular old flatscan humans were all over the place too, actually. 

                That fact, in particular, gave her food for thought.

                Perhaps the repeated news coverage of mutants saving the world had done some good after all.

                But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she _really didn't want to be here. Alas, it seemed she'd developed a habit of following Kitty Pryde into certain doom._

                "Whoa, whoa, Kitty-cat," Pietro's white eyebrows were suddenly almost meeting with his hairline, "Who's the new girl?"

                Wanda followed her brother's gaze to a slim young woman, probably about her age, maybe a little younger, in flared jeans and a black baby doll tank top. Typical. The girl had long hair, as dark as her own, with a silver streak or two trailing through it, swept over to the left.

                And she was beautiful. Perfect pale skin, bright blue eyes, and a smile that looked like it was straight off the cover of Seventeen magazine.

                Christ. Another cover girl for the X-Men. Great.

                "Oh, that's Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, from Quebec. And her brother, Jean-Paul. They just got here, actually, Jeanne-Marie's been with us a little over a week."

                Wanda rolled her eyes at the girl… but stopped when they reached the aforementioned brother.

                About the same height, with a similarly, Wanda figured, deceptively slim build. But without looking slightly underfed, like his sister. Same shining black hair with the silver streaks, only his fell over his forehead, almost into those piercing baby blues. Upswept eyebrows, smooth white forehead, and a half smile on his face. But nothing like his sister's shining, enthusiastic one. Sarcastic, would be a better word. Bemused, maybe. Black t-shirt, jeans cut like he'd had them tailored. 

                "Nice body," She commented, off hand. Not really her type, but not bad at all.

                "He's a skier," Kitty giggled, beside her.

                Lance suddenly growled something, and stalked off toward the punch bowl, pawing at his shirt pocket. Which meant the punch bowl would soon be spiked. Todd hopped after him, shooting her a wounded look, which she pointedly ignored.

                Freddy had long since found the food, and hadn't heard the exchange at all, apparently.

                "Well, well, looks like I _might get to have a little fun tonight!" Pietro announced before blurring momentarily, and reappearing near the dark-haired girl, who was talking animatedly with Rogue as Ray and Bobby looked on wistfully. _

                The rest of the group, Wanda noted, jumped with surprise at Pietro's appearance. 

                Except for the twins. 

                "What do they do?"

                Kitty laughed, or giggled again, really. She tended to giggle. You'd never guess what a genius the girl was, if you didn't give her a chance. And she started to lead Wanda over to where the little group was standing. "They'd give Pietro a run for his money. They're super fast, and they can fly. And when they touch, there's this light that happens. Totally blinds anyone looking at it."

                Impressive. 

                When they reached the group, Pietro was gesturing wildly, Jeanne-Marie was laughing, and Jean-Paul was scowling at the pair of them.  

                "I guess you guys met Pietro," Kitty rolled her eyes at them.

                Rogue rolled her eyes. Jean-Paul raised one eyebrow alarmingly high. 

                "This is his sister, Wanda. Wanda, Jean-Paul and Jeanne-Marie Beaubier."

                "I prefer not to be introduced as Pietro's sister," She muttered. 

                The dark haired boy smiled at her then. A wry smile, but an appreciative one, nevertheless. And he held out a hand to her. "Nice to meet you, Wanda."

                Heh. Accent. She took the hand offered and smiled back, awkwardly. 

                Like he was picking up on her thought, Pietro asked suddenly, "Where'd you say you were from?"

                "Quebec," The Beaubiers answered in unison.

                Rogue and Kitty exchanged alarmed looks.

                Wanda and Pietro just nodded.

                "Who the hell gave Bobby Drake alcohol?" Rogue had her hands on her hips, feet planted shoulder-length apart, staring balefully at the assortment of young X-Men scattered around the room.

                Wanda laughed, and sipped at her own punch, silently thanking Lance Alvers for his forethought. 

                She hadn't done much talking tonight. She hadn't really even expected to stay this long. But, surprisingly, no one was getting on her nerves too much.

                No one except Todd. But then, that was nothing new. 

                Pietro had been too busy trying to outdo the newest addition to the X-Men, Jean-Paul, obviously having forgotten about his beguiling sister. Said sister was presently focusing all her attention on one very flummoxed looking Ray Crisp, who sat staring at her wide-eyed and obviously failing at an attempt to hold a conversation. She'd focused on Drake, who was now passed out on the sofa, snoring softly and making  little puffs of frozen air appear over his open mouth, for a bit. But when he started sliding down in his seat, obviously drunk and about to pass out, she'd moved on to Berserker. Amara and was busy flirting with any man who stepped within her radar, as if she considered the threat from Jeanne-Marie's competition a serious invasion of her territory. The Canadian invasion. Todd was sitting in a corner, watching her, still angry about her comment on the Beaubier guy's body. Lance and Kitty were sitting on the stairs, deep in conversation and gesturing madly now and then, obviously on the verge of fighting. Kurt was running around dutifully, helping Amanda keep things under control. Tabby was entertaining a crowd of her own outside on the porch, telling some wild story or another. Alex, the other new X-Kid, the little Summers, 'Berto, Sam, and Freddy were outside as well. Watching the cockswinging between Jean-Paul and Pietro, probably.

                As entertaining as it was to watch Rogue fume, Wanda decided she might as well go and keep her brother from embarrassing himself too badly in the back yard. So she pushed through the mass of kids near the door, and out into the humid summer night, full of loud music and fireflies.

                "Well, I was Pietro's date to the dance—,"

                "Oh don't be stupid, Megan, I asked him first! He only agreed to let you tag along because he felt bad!"

                A blonde girl at her elbow suddenly turned very red, "That is _not _true, Ashley Blake, you take that back!"

                The brunette rolled her eyes, "Oh whatever."

                "Actually, I asked him first—," a new voice cut in.

                Wanda ground her teeth hard, and pushed past more kids, to try and escape the conversation they were having, that she _did not under any circumstances want to hear.            _

                On second thought, maybe she _would let her brother make an ass of himself. It would serve him right._

                At least most of them weren't even paying attention to the little competition further down the yard. Most of them were hanging out up on the porch, totally oblivious to the idiocy of her brother and his new playmate, dancing to the excessively bad music blaring through the speakers out there and drinking whatever alcohol they managed to sneak in without Amanda finding out.

                "Ha!" her brother was laughing as she caught sight of him, coming up between Alex and Berto. "So that proves it! I'm faster!"

                "You might be _a little _faster, _mon ami_," Wanda had to look around to see where the voice was coming from, and eventually spotted Jean-Paul leaning under a tree, in the shadows. "But that's not all I have."

                Pietro paused. 

                A rare occurrence. She had another moment of silence, to treasure this rare event. Pietro. Holding still. It almost brought a tear to her eyes.

                And she meant that thought in the most sarcastic way possible, of course.

                "Scott would flip if he saw this," Alex was shaking his head, looking torn between extreme amusement and mild concern. But grinning.

                Wanda rolled her eyes. "No one is even paying attention. Just like your fearless brother, aren't you kid?"

                The surfer boy turned to look at her. "Just like your mouthy brother, aren't you girl?"

                She considered hexing him.

                But Pietro was talking again. "Bring it, speed bump," he put his hands on his hips and gave the shadowed boy that evil grin of his.

                The Peter Pan act again.

                Wanda had a wonderful feeling that this was going to be very bad.

                There was a blur, near the tree, then one where Pietro had been.

                Then a streak, going straight up into the air.

                When her eyes finally caught up with them, she saw the Canadian X-Man holding her brother by the wrists, letting his feet dangle… a good fifty feet in the air.

                Roberto DaCosta was suddenly on the ground at her feet, howling with laughter.

                She fought a sudden urge to do the same thing. And a simultaneous one to kick him in the ribs.

                Pietro started kicking wildly, "Let me down! Hey, put me down you—,"

                "I could," Jean-Paul's voice was quiet, but loud enough to just carry to those standing close to where they'd been. "but are you _sure _that's what you want?"

                "Yes!"

                He let go. And Pietro started to fall.

                Wanda's heart jumped.

                But suddenly, the dark haired boy had her brother by the wrists again, right back where they'd been before he'd let go. "Are you _sure?"_

                She felt her lips press into a thin line now. She'd wanted him humiliated, yeah… well, she'd '_thought _she had, anyhow… but this was irritating.

                Jean-Paul had started his descent, however, and made a delicate landing for them both, punctuated by some extremely inventive and colorful swearing from Pietro. Wanda watched through narrowed eyes as the Canadian stepped up beside her brother and smiled at him sweetly, then offered him a hand. "So, you're faster, but I fly. I suppose that makes us even?"

                Pietro was positively pink in the face, at this point. 

                But he surprised her. He reached out, and took the other boy's hand, and shook it. "I guess that's fair."

                "_Merveilleux !_" Jean-Paul replied, still smiling winningly.

                Then, he became a blur, and Pietro was left standing by himself. An expression of extreme shock on his face that made very little sense. 

                He looked over at the small crowd there—Alex, Freddy, Sam, Berto (still on the ground, still laughing maniacally,) and Wanda. And furrowed his brow thoughtfully. Momentarily dumbstruck.

                Another special moment in time, she thought wryly. Pietro was silent, for a moment! Mark it on the calendar!

                "Well," he said, finally, "You heard the man. I'm faster."

                Wanda rolled her eyes, her bout of protectiveness suddenly gone without a trace. "You ass," she mumbled, turning around to head back up to the house.

                To see Jeanne-Marie Beaubier giggling silently behind her, a very drunken Ray attached to her arm. 

                "What are you laughing at?" She snarled at the girl, suddenly irritated by her… girlishness.

                "My brother. I think he took Pietro by surprise, with his last move," she laughed from behind one long, thin hand.

                Wanda didn't bother to ask what that was supposed to mean. She just started back up to the house, to scrape Lance off of Kitty to give them all a ride home. 


	7. Chapter Six: How to Fly

AN: The Remy/Rogue issue in Evo isn't going to be my main goal here, though I will mention it later. In my world, yeah there's something there. Not going to ignore the show, after all, they made that clear enough every time the two met up, not even counting that whole Cajun Spice thing. But I'm going on the idea that they simply have an understanding at the moment, and though there is much affection either way, it's uneasy. Understandably. Cause I don't do Romy, just on principle, even though in the Evoverse, I actually really like it. 

I think I mentioned before that Evo JP is a kinder, gentler JP. Sort of. He's still a snob and a prick. But this particular chapter will raise issues for JP Marvelverse types, as will some later chapters. Think of it in terms of Evolution, _mes amis_, and you'll feel a lot better.

**Chapter Six: How to Fly **(Rogue)

                Intense.

                Jeanne-Marie, and her brother for that matter, freaked Rogue out a little because they were just so goddamn intense. 

                The girl was biting her lip now, staring fixedly at the paper before them, trying to explain what kind of costume she thought would be best for her. And, incidentally, for Jean-Paul, who had left the decision up to her.

                He was a fairly fashion-conscious kind of guy. At least, from what she knew of him. Seemed a little funny that he wouldn't want a hand in it himself. But hell, they'd only been hanging out for an hour or so every day… it wasn't like she actually _knew _him, right?

                She tried not to think about it. Too much.

                During their little sessions, she always seemed to be the one volunteering information. He usually asked a lot of questions, got her talking. He was so quiet, most of the time, so serious. She didn't know quite why she felt ok spilling her guts about her life, about the recent events surrounding the X-Men, about her relationship with her "little brother," to him. But it just seemed that he was so lonely. Like someone who'd made a few mistakes, had a few secrets. At their age, there weren't many of them around. People with skeletons in their closets, or whatever.  

                Kitty teased her about it. And she guessed she did kind of have a crush on him. 

                What was it about her and tall dark and handsome strangers. Did they _have _to be a little dangerous for her to notice, or what?

                But when you can't touch another human being, you learn pretty fast to end your crushes before they end you. Besides, just watching him wasn't a crime. And she was learning too. He was a good teacher, despite what Kitty had said about him being impatient and impossible. 

                She was just mad because he'd bitched her out in the Danger Room that day, anyhow. _One week in this place and he thinks he can tell _me _what to do?!_ To her credit, though, she was right. Jean-Paul had a tendency to overreact to suggestions and criticisms made by the rest of the team. 

                It's not like it was easy for him though. He was only there because of his sister. And, really, it's not like the guy had any friends around here, or anyone to talk to. 

                It was totally innocent. She just thought he needed a friend. 

                She couldn't give Kitty that explanation, of course. The girl would never believe it. 

                But then again, that was ok. She didn't need people knocking on her door for a sympathetic ear all the time. Wouldn't want it to get around that she was friendly or anything. Bad enough that the fuzzball had found out. 

                "What do you think, Rogue? Is it good?"

                Rogue was snapped back into reality by the soft voice at her shoulder. "Huh… oh, yeah here, let me see that." She accepted the paper Jeanne-Marie was holding out to her and looked it over. Black costumes, with a silver outline of a star on them. For hers, on her left side. For his, on the right. Curving around their sides, so that when they stood next to each other, the star was complete. The shoulders and legs were accented in silver as well, with a silver stripe straight down the middle. 

                She liked it, honestly. "Look like good costumes for Aurora and Northstar to me." 

                It wasn't the actual work on the bars that got her into trouble. It was always the dismount. 

                Rogue was a great acrobat, and a great fighter. And when all else failed, there was very little her power couldn't stand up to. 

                But she couldn't land a dismount to save her life, sometimes.

                She watched her new friend wind himself around the bars, making it look like the ballet it was meant to be. Impossible movements made to look natural. Like he wasn't even breaking a sweat, just sort of floating around up there. If not for the slight give of the bars when he caught them, she would've thought his powers were to blame. But he did seem to have a very real, solid weight behind him as he swung, flipped, and landed. 

                She shook her head at him. "Ah'm tellin' ya, ah just don't know how ya can make it look so easy."

                Jean-Paul came to her and shook his head, and now she could see a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. So he _had been working at least… that made her feel a little better. But his black work-out shirt wasn't sweaty yet. So maybe not working that hard… "It's not," he insisted, sitting himself on the ground in front of her, pulling his legs up under him. "It took a long fucking time for me to figure that out. Just like I can figure out how to break out of one of your throws, but it's going to take me forever."_

                She grinned, remembering their practice yesterday, and how he'd landed on his back at least fifteen times thanks to one particular move. "Ah guess you have a point."

                "Yes, of course I do," he sniffed, reaching out for the water bottle they were sharing, and had been all week, and squeezing a stream of the stuff into his mouth. 

                "So… this kind of stuff… it's always been hard for you?"

                He held the bottle out to her and dragged a bare forearm across his face. The gesture seemed… out of place. Like something a normal human would do. Awkward and uncomfortable. It was nice to know he didn't always look so inhumanly graceful, really. "I don't remember. I think it was. I've been doing this for so long, it's hard to say. But I do remember having trouble with this particular dismount, yes."

                Uncertain, but dying to know, she let her eyes catch his. Always dangerous, because Jean-Paul had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. And they were a little scary, sometimes. That intensity. Just like his twin. Only… different. Kind of. "Do ya ever think it has to do with… your powers?"

                She saw the muscle in his jaw twitch, and then his face go utterly blank.

                And was immediately sorry she'd asked.

                "Ah'm sorry, ah don't mean—,"

                He shook his head, like someone shaking off sleep, "No, it's fine. It wasn't you. I just…" his eyes flicked down to the ground, then back up to hers for a minute, uncomfortably. When he spoke again, it was in a much more hushed tone. Almost a whisper. "Sometimes, I wonder myself. I mean… how could I really know? Maybe just… naturally, it happens. It's… that's why I don't want to…"

                But he fell off, chewing at his lip.

                Leaving her rather desperate for more. She reached out and patted his knee, in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. She wasn't very good with this touchy stuff, but he looked almost… huggable at the moment. 

                Weird. He usually looked about as huggable as a porcupine. "Huggable" was an adjective she rarely applied to anyone, on top of that. And if she did, it was usually Kurt. He was blue and fuzzy. It would be difficult not to find her "little brother" huggable on occasion. Even if he was infuriating, sometimes.

                But she knew where JP was going with this train of thought. Any time someone brought up his career as a skier, so recently dropped like a hot potato, he clammed right up. It was pretty clear that he didn't think his abilities as a mutant and his beloved sport were such a great combination. Or such a fair one.

                "Why ya don't want to ski anymore?" She guessed. 

                He nodded, jaw muscle twitching again.

                "Ah figured," she drew back her hand now and leaned one elbow on her own knee, using that hand to prop her head up. "Ah mean, why would you leave a life of superstardom just to come and hang out in Bayville with the freaks, huh? Must've been somethin' wrong."

                His brow furrowed at her. "You're not a freak."

                She smiled, "It's ok, JP. Ah don't mind admittin' to the truth."

                He just looked at her a minute longer, face thoughtful, eyebrows still crunched together in that "thoughtful Spock" expression he got sometimes. And she looked back, wishing she had the words to say to make them both feel better. But not entirely uncomfortable with the silence, either. Not really.

                "Rogue… would you… do me a favor?"

                Now it was her turn to look thoughtful. "Sure, whatever ya need."

                He let out a deep breath, and his broad shoulders suddenly slumped. She could see them clearly, since the workout shirt was of the affectionately named "wife beater" variety. And they dropped off to almost perfect curves now, where they were normally straight and held back. "How fast do your powers take effect, when you touch someone?"

                She felt a lump rise into her throat. And didn't think about why. "Pretty fast. Ah… ah have no control over them at all. Just a touch and bam, knocked out."

                He was biting at his lip again, elfin face far more expressive than usual. Normally, it was totally guarded. Stony, even. At the moment, she could practically see thoughts moving across it. She didn't know what they were, but she was definitely interested. "Is it possible that if I could touch you for just a fraction of a second I could… remain conscious?"

                "Ah don't know, honestly," she admitted, slowly. "Ah've done it before without knockin' someone out, to Kitty once. Why?"

                "I want you to borrow my powers, and try the routine."

                She swallowed hard. Not exactly what she'd expected… not that she'd expected anything… "Ah… well ah guess ah could. What for?"

                He took a deep breath, and slowly pulled himself up straighter with it. Shoulders back. Chest out. Familiar Jean-Paul, no, Northstar, again. "To tell me if I'm cheating or not. If it's easier for you, if you land everything with no mistakes, then I'm cheating. And I have been for years. And those medals aren't mine."

                This suddenly didn't sound like such a good idea. "Ah don't know, Jean-Paul… some things maybe ya just should never know."

                He shook his head, not even seeming to notice that it made more of his hair drop into his eyes. "I need to know, Rogue. I understand if you don't want to do it, that's fine, but if that's your only reason—,"

                "It's not that ah don't want to. It's just… well, maybe ah'd absorb your know-how too. Maybe ah'd get the experiences you had, that made you so good. And then if ah was better because of that, and did everything right, you'd think you were a cheater, and for the wrong reason."

                He seemed to consider this, chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully now. 

                "And anyhow, ya don't want me inside your head, do ya? Ah mean, there's a chance ah could see… ya know, your past. Things you did, said."

                He shrugged, "I know I like my privacy, but I have nothing to hide. Certainly not from you. I want you to try it. And if you finish properly, I'll at least know there's a greater chance that I cheated… even if on accident."

                "It's really that important to ya?"

                Jean-Paul nodded, looking her straight in the eye. 

                She held out her hand , and pulled off the long glove covering it. "Alright, then… but real quick. Don't want you passing out on me."

                He held a hand out toward her now, slowly. 

                Somehow, she felt like it was pulling at her. Drawing her in. 

                His hand disappeared, and she simultaneously felt a flash of light behind her eyes, familiar, but different every time. An instant sense of vertigo, a picture of a little boy with black hair. A snow covered mountain and a smiling man in a fuzzy hat. Someone yelling in joual, which she suddenly understood, someone holding him in their arms. Swimming in him, for just a fraction of a second, just an instant, too small to see or really feel. How it felt when he and Jeanne-Marie created their light. How it felt when he crossed the finish line. How he hated the cameras and reporters and bullshit. How he loved his home. How he loved his sister. How he'd been so alone for so long. His last…

                Kiss!

                Rogue's eyes snapped open, and she was momentarily diverted from her train of thought at the sight of a pale, but still conscious Jean-Paul Beaubier sitting before her. His eyes fluttered open and he took a deep breath. His mouth worked silently, but no words came out.

                She could feel her eyes growing wide, as it dawned on her what she'd just seen.

                "You kissed Pietro?"

                Jean-Paul shook his head, as if shaking off a dream, trying to wake up. "Pietro? Ah, oh, _oui_, I did."

                "Ah didn't know you were…,"

                He blinked a few times, thick black lashes looking too heavy for him, at the moment. "Gay?" he supplied. "Yes, I am."

                Stunned, she just stared. 

                Well… "Oh. Makes sense. You're way too good a dresser to be straight."

                "_Oui_, I could not agree more, _chere_." 

                Oh. Well. 

                Suddenly made her little crush seem pretty goddamn silly, didn't it?

                "You like him?"

                He still looked rather shell-shocked, however. "Can we talk about this… in a moment… hell of a punch you're packing, girl."

                She hadn't landed the dismount. Not even close.

                He was standing by that time, having finally shaken off the effects of her power. And when she looked up at him, having rolled over onto her back after flubbing the landing horribly, he was nodding thoughtfully. 

                She used his powers to levitate herself up to eye level with him.

                Really, this was a pretty handy thing to have. And not so hard to use. Just apply thrust in the necessary amounts… felt natural, really. No wonder Aurora loved it so much, if this was what it felt like for her too. 

                And the exertion of the routine had given her time to recover from her little discovery as well. Blessedly. 

                Jesus Christ, what a thing to find out about the guy you're crushing on.

                Of course, that was all over now. Not that she wasn't disappointed. But practicality came rushing in and she immediately wanted to hear the story on this business with…

                "Sweet mother, JP, _Pietro?"_

                He rolled his eyes, but his mouth betrayed him, one side curving up into a reckless sort of grin. "Oh I just did it to tease him. It was so fast no one but he could've seen it. I couldn't resist, after what a shit he was being."

                "Don't lah to me," she laughed at him now, "You liked it!"

                He shrugged, still grinning, "What if I did?"

                "You are so into him! Oh god, that's so gross. All the cute boys around Bayville and you pick that jerk?"

                He raised an eyebrow, "I'm a bigger jerk."

                "Good point," she dropped herself to standing on the ground and shook her head at him. "Damn boy, you're just full of surprises."

                "I aim to please," he was getting control over his grin, and his tone was becoming more dry, more guarded. "Besides, nothing will come of it, it was just a joke."

                But she didn't mind. 

                Really, looking at him, standing there sweaty and gorgeous, she honestly didn't mind. It was almost like she'd traded a frenzied, impossible, childish crush… for a friend. He really hadn't cared if she'd seen all that. How it felt when he skied. Who he wanted. Where he'd been and what he'd seen. It hadn't gone that deep, of course, just images, impressions. But he really, truly, hadn't minded. She smiled at him, and felt her face get a little warm, knowing that what she was about to say would sound hopelessly stupid. "Ah'm… glad you thought you could let me know. About all that stuff, ah mean."

                He tilted one head to the side, and rolled his eyes upward. A strangely articulate gesture that said something like "Yeah, go figure." What came out of his mouth, however, was, "Well, you talked to me about Kurt… and Mystique… seems like it's only fair, really. Anyhow, it's not like you're about to go all homophobe on me, being a girl and all, so whatever, right?"

                She laughed at him, face still a little flushed, but not as bad as she'd expected. "Ah guess that's true."

                "But," he started, now turning away and starting to collect his things from the floor as he spoke, "It's not as if I want to hide anything, either. I spent the last four years of my life hiding what I am. I don't particularly want to spend the rest of it the same way."

                She joined him in picking up their things, which seemed to have scattered across a surprisingly large area of the gym floor. "Then you've come to the right place, buddy."

                When they were done, they walked side by side toward the locker rooms. Girls on the left, boys on the right. And he stopped and turned to her. "Thank you, Rogue. I know that didn't really _prove anything. But… I do feel a little better, now."_

                "Guess you're just _that good," she shrugged, smiling. _

                More than she'd smiled all at once in a long time, it seemed.

                "So I've been told," he raised an eyebrow again.

                Ok, so maybe he still made her a _little weak in the knees. _

                But as she took herself into the locker room, laughing at his singular arrogance, she felt happy. For the first time in a long time.

                 She made sure to put her normal bored face back on before she went back down to see what was happening in the mansion, before dinner. 

                In the rec room, she found Kurt, Jeanne-Marie, Bobby, and Kitty facing off over who should be in control of the television. 

                "_Nein_¸ it's time for Kenshin!" Her fuzzy blue brother was admonishing, waving the coveted black remote high over his head. 

                "No _way _we are missing it tonight guys! Forget it!" Kitty threw in.

                "Aw, don't be stupid," Bobby whined, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his lower lip. The kid could pout like a champ, when he wasn't busy giggling over his latest prank. "We _have to watch Will and Grace." _

                Jeanne-Marie nodded her assent.

                "As the oldest member of the X-Men present, I don't think it's an appropriate show for you," Kurt tried to strike a dignified pose.

                Kitty and Jeanne-Marie laughed, and Bobby made a jump for the remote. Kurt disappeared with a bamf, leaving Bobby to choke on his sulfur, and reappeared on the other side of the couch, standing on it. 

                "Will and Grace is on _re-runs right now!" Kitty recovered enough to remind them._

                "You own Kenshin on video!" Bobby shot back, launching himself at Kurt again.

                Kurt bamfed to the other side of the couch, once more, and Jeanne-Marie was suddenly beside him. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on one fuzzy cheek. Kurt, for his part seemed frozen. Grinning like an idiot.

                That made Rogue wince a bit. She knew Jean-Paul was a little uncomfortable with what a flirt his sister was. She was fragile, after all. And the way she ran around kissing every boy in the Institute… well it couldn't be good for anyone… but she kept quiet and watched the farce unfolding before her. 

                Kitty was laughing again, "Oh no you don't sister!" she jumped onto the couch and dove for the remote, still clutched tenuously in one three-fingered hand. 

                Bobby, determinately biting at his lower lip, shot a very thin ice beam at her hand, meant to keep it from closing in around the remote.

                Kitty phased through the ice… and then through the remote.

                The black thing crackled in Kurt's hand, and he suddenly jumped back to life and dropped it into the couch cushions with a surprised cry of, "_Mein Gott!_" 

                Kitty stopped phasing just in time to send Kurt, Jeanne-Marie, and herself falling into a flailing pile of limbs on the couch, giggling and pushing like a bunch of five year olds. 

                Slowly, Bobby was trying to sneak away, but Rogue stepped into the doorway to block his path and raised her eyebrow at him. "You didn't think you were getting away, frosty?"

                His brown eyes widened in what had to be mock terror.

                "Drake! You're _so _dead!" The mutant pile-up managed to disentangle itself on the couch and one rather dangerous looking Kitty Pryde was now coming toward the youngest member of the X-Men, certain death in her eyes. 

                Jeanne-Marie, also back to standing, was giggling still, "But you're the one who shorted out the remote, Kitty!"

                "That's _so_ not the point! Get over here you little snowball!" 

                Bobby grinned hugely at Rogue, ducked around her, then shot off down the hallway. 

                Kitty phased right through her, and followed him in hot pursuit.

                Rogue shrugged, and moved to the couch, flopping herself down between the now settled Kurt and Jeanne-Marie. They were watching Kenshin, as it turned out. "Ah thought you wanted Will and Grace," she commented to the other girl.

                Jeanne-Marie shrugged gently, "I only felt bad because Bobby was alone. Two against one was unfair, _non? I really don't watch much television, it doesn't matter to me what we watch."_

                Rogue found herself smiling at the girl. "That's real sweet of ya, JM."

                Jeanne-Marie lowered her eyes, still smiling, then looked back to the TV.

                "You're not much like your brother are ya?"

                "He's nicer than he wants everyone to think," the other girl giggled. 

                She supposed that was true. And she _had seen this quiet, painfully shy girl before her turn into an incredible flirting machine at the drop of a hat, like she had just a minute ago with Kurt. _

                But it seemed out of place somehow. Like this was the real her, and that other stuff was just… 

                Something else, anyhow. But not like her. Not really. 

                Oh well, the twins were nothing if not a bit odd. Made them interesting, she supposed. 

                With that thought, she moved to prop her stocking feet up on the coffee table… and landed them right in a puddle of freezing water.

                "_Bobby!_"


	8. Chapter Seven: The Aurora

AN: Another cannon rewrite, coming late in the chapter. The twins weren't always so nice to each other. They did this sort of thing fairly often, in 616. A bit of this chapter might seem familiar to those of you who followed AF back in the day. An old fight. So no, I'm not claiming I invented the argument, I just put an Evolution spin on it. Just a heads up. Should you need an issue reference, just email me and ask for it. 

My soundtrack, in order (go, download! You know you want to follow along!):

Oasis—_Supersonic (God forbid I should use music and not them, right?), Chemical Brothers—_Setting Sun_, Prodigy—_Breathe_, Roots Manuva—__Witness the Fitness (dedicated to The M!) The Hives—_Main Offender_, and Kidney Thieves—_Zerospace_. A large chunk of my bouncy, if sometimes dirty, writing playlist at the moment._

**Chapter Seven: The Aurora ** (Jeanne-Marie)

                Jeanne-Marie Beaubier had never had… so _much._

                So much food to eat. Her metabolism raced so that the Soeurs often suspected her of throwing up her food when she ate and ate and ate and still remained thin. To the point where they sometimes assigned her a day's fast, hoping that would teach her to appreciate what The Lord had given her. 

                So much affection. Friends who were supportive, unafraid, who were like her. Willing to hug, to touch, to kiss. No one ever touched her, at the school, especially not after they found out about her. They said she was a blasphemer, then, once they saw the light for themselves, or that she was a demon, sent to test them. And they locked her in a dark room, again, without food. Gave her the rosary and told her to say her prayers, and hope that God would take pity on her wicked soul.

                So much fun. Flying around as she liked, not running away from something, not in that horrible dark haze that sometimes fell over her mind, clouding it from rational thought. She felt it sometimes, when she felt too happy. That thing coming back to her, making her wild. It scared her. Waking up in Montreal, not knowing what she'd done for sure, memories slowly coming back to her of all her wickedness… but it had been so _fun to let go, since she'd been here._

                So much… love. Friends. Teachers. A family. 

                Jean-Paul, her own brother. The part of her that had been missing all those nights in the dark, hungry and scared and knowing she was already in hell for what God had done to her. She always felt as if something was wrong. Some huge, impossible gap in her. She would never eat enough, never fly enough, never steal or dance or kiss enough to fill it, and she knew it.

                And then she saw him, touched him, and she knew everything would be alright. For the first time.

                And he was a good brother. Spent so much time with her, talked with her. She told him everything, watched his face darken before he gathered her into his arms, promised that nothing like that would ever happen to her again.

                Part of her appreciated it, and hoped he would be there to protect her. 

                And another part of her knew that she didn't need protected. Not anymore. She felt it, when that thing inside of her, that otherness, woke up. In the Danger Room, she felt it.

                But still, she loved him for it. 

                She loved him for his story, as well. Of what a horrible child he'd been, after his second family had died. Of how no foster home would keep him for long, and he finally took matters into his own hands. How he'd impressed a ski instructor, who'd funded his education and training from then on, expecting nothing in return. How he'd learned to use his powers on the slopes, controlling the speed at which he skied. He didn't cheat, he said, in competition. And she believed him. She knew her brother would not lie to her. 

                Maybe he was too protective. Maybe he told her she flirted too much, was too free with herself around the boys, at times. 

                But he meant well. He always meant well.

                Sometimes, she was still scared. She felt like a child again when it happened. Like it would all disappear. Like she was being punished again, shown a life she could never really have, didn't deserve. She was wicked.

                But if she was… so were all the X-Men. 

                And her friends—Kitty, Bobby, Kurt, Jean, her brother… they were not wicked. They loved her.

                "So I fell right through the ceiling!" Kitty was telling her, sitting on her bed, now that she had her own, waving her arms around animatedly. "My parents were totally freaked and wouldn't even talk about it. It really hurt, you know? I thought I was such a freak, or something. And at school the next day, I kinda… well I got stuck in a locker, let's say, and when I phased out, I bumped into Lance," she rolled her eyes expressively at the mention of his name.

                Jeanne-Marie giggled at her, "I thought you like him now!"

                Kitty shifted, and wrinkled up her nose. "Oh… I do. He's cute, ya know? And really, he has a good heart. No one bothers to talk to him, they just assume he's this punk. There's a good heart under there."

                "I tried to say the same to you about my brother," the darker girl reminded her. "He seems grouchy, but he is really a nice boy."

                Again, Kitty wrinkled up her nose. "He's just a little scary. I mean… famous and cute and all that."

                Jeanne-Marie nodded, "I can understand. If he was not my brother, maybe I would feel the same."

                "He gets along with Rogue fine," Her friend rolled her eyes.

                "Maybe they are friends because they are both grouchy?"

                They laughed about this for a minute, and when they finished, Kitty asked her, "So seriously, how did you figure out that you had powers?"

                Jeanne-Marie's heart jumped into her throat. And she fell quiet. And she felt a very old, familiar darkness pulling at her.

                The other girl's brow furrowed, and she reached out to take her hand, reassuringly. "I'm sorry, JM, if it's hard for you—,"

                 Kitty's touch brought her back to herself, from that darkness. And she shook her head. "No, it's alright. You are my friend," she took a pause here, to order her suddenly scattered, disordered thoughts. She wasn't sure if she wanted to curl up in a ball, or fly out the window and never look back. Sometimes, this happened to her… "I was on the roof. I had been beaten, for talking back to the Soeur…"

                Kitty's other hand suddenly went to her throat, and she gasped slightly, "Oh, god!"

                But she couldn't stop now, or she'd never make it through the story. "And… I was going to jump." She closed her eyes now, felt the cold wind on her face again, the feeling of gravity pulling at her insides insistently. Calling her. Unstable roof tiles, under her feet. Shifting, sliding. Breath pooling before her, clouds of condensation. "I stepped off, hoping that the fall would… kill me." She opened her eyes to see Kitty's expression of terror, and felt the girl clutch at her hand. Again, reassuring. "But… instead… I flew."

                Without further need for explanation, her friend threw herself onto her bodily and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, holding her close. "Oh god, Jeanne-Marie, I… we never knew it was that bad." 

                Her heart was still in her throat, but as she relaxed into Kitty's friendly, warm hug, she found that she no longer needed to curl up into a ball, to sink into blackness. Or to fly away, to lose herself in the lights and sounds and smells of the city, to forget it all. "It's ok now, Kitty. I have my friends, here. And I have my brother. I am safe."

                Kitty rubbed her back, gently, like a mother would, "Yes, you are. You're with the X-Men now. And  Jean-Paul is one hell of a force to be reckoned with."

                She gave a little laugh, though she knew it sounded sad. "Yes. He is, very much. And so are you."

                Kitty had asked her what she liked to do, what made her happy. And only two answers came to mind.

                "I like to fly… and I like to dance."

                So, they were dancing.

_I need to be myself   
I can't be no one else   
I'm feeling supersonic   
Give me gin and tonic   
You can have it all but how much do you want it?_

                Ah, she knew this feeling. The feeling of loud guitars coursing through her veins, like electric, like the light she could create. 

                She smiled at the girl next to her, dancing happily, twirling and mouthing the words like she was asking Jeanne-Marie the question. 

                Jeanne-Marie wanted it. 

                She jumped up and down, totally free. Electricity instead of blood, coursing through her. Feeling the bass of it. Forgetting who she was in it. She was the words. She was the shifting of the tones and the thumping of the speakers.

                Kitty took her hand and laughed, spinning under her arm, and she laughed back. Kitty's laptop was hooked up to Alex's speakers. Thumping away with a sort of recklessness she'd never really known, but always wanted.

_You're the devil in me, I brought in from the cold   
You said your body was young but your mind was very old   
Your comin' on strong and I like the way   
The visions we had are fading away   
You're part of the life I never had-- I'll tell you now it's just too bad_

                Alex had joined them, along with Bobby and Ray, jumping up and down now. The guitars were gone and only the slide of electronic bass remained. She saw Amara dancing in, closing the door behind her. Kitty's computer flashed, the only light in the room. 

                She felt the sweat creeping, as she took her friend by the hand again, shaking her head, the nape of her neck wet with it. They laughed at each other. Feet planted wide apart, darkness, flashing of white. She spun and laughed aloud, watching the boys jump up and down recklessly. She moved over and took Bobby's hand in her own, watched him grin at her, grin up at the ceiling, try to move in rhythm when his body told him to do otherwise. He bounced happily, face split in half with a smile, clutching her hand and laughing with her.

                Joyful. Nothing mattered. Nothing but the music, but the lights flashing and the music pounding and the people grinning.

_Breathe the pressure__  
Come play my game I'll test ya  
Psychosomatic addict insane  
Come play my game  
Inhale inhale you're the victim_

                A sound like a whip crack, and she snapped her body around with it. Twisting in time to it, letting it move her, knowing she couldn't move it. Time did not exist in this world. 

                Kurt had stumbled in, looking for Kitty, followed by Berto. She laughed at the fuzzy elf, stood in front of him and shook her hair out, turned around and put her arms around his neck, watching his eyes glow, watching his laughter. 

                She spun away and into Sam, who seemed utterly lost. Put an arm around his waist and her hip against his, showing him how to move. His eyebrows shot up, his expression turned ridiculous, and he let her move him, so uncertain she wanted to kiss him.

                But she didn't. She let go and twirled around once, finding Kitty again and locking hands with her, laughing aloud once more with her friend. The room was filling up now, bodies bouncing in time, or off time, no one really caring who was watching, who was thinking, who would hear or understand. 

                It was drunken. It was dizzy.

_Witness the fitness  
The Cruffiton liveth  
One hope, one quest_

                Thumping, pounding, like humanity had never evolved. No such thing as natural selection or mutation. Just this, the sound of their veins thudding, their blood rushing, their minds forgotten. 

                A slowly glowing light, from the door. Rogue stepped into her room, eyebrows high, and Jeanne-Marie ran to her, pulled her inside. Her brother followed after, scowling. 

                She took him by the hand and laughed at his expression. Maybe he didn't understand right now, but he would learn fast. She closed the door behind him and pulled him into the melee, twirling under his arm and letting go. She took Rogue by the hand now, gyrating wildly, feeling the warmth it pushed through her limbs, out from her very center, the very origin of her every movement, of her life, of her breath. She kissed the gloved hand in her own and giggled as the girl spun with her now, laughing. No rhythm of her own, borrowing it from the music, from Jeanne-Marie, from Jean-Paul and Bobby and Amara and Kitty and Kurt and Berto and Sam…

                Maybe not so much from Sam…

_I'm stuck in ways of sadistic joy and my talent only goes as far as to annoy.  
I'm on my way. This is my main offender.  
This is what I've got and it got me saying - Why me?_

She jumped up now, wrapped her legs around Ray's waist at the singer's squeal. He caught her around the waist, holding her close and laughing. The guitars had returned, slamming out the chords in a rebellious sort of rhythm. He spun her around, arms around her waist, and swung her down when she let go with her legs. She put her hands on his shoulders and didn't even have to tell him what to do. He picked her up, holding her by the waist, and her legs swung to the right, then to the left of him, then she landed on her feet again, laughing at the impossibility of it. 

                Without even thinking, she spun away from him this time, her hair flying all around her, into her brother. She shook her hips and turned to face him, pointing at him like a child she was reprimanding. 

                He tried to look at her sternly and failed, a rare and real smile splitting his face. 

                She took his hands again and shook herself, as if he should do the same. He started to move, just a bit, and she could tell he was a good dancer already. He was laughing now, a coveted sound she could barely hear over the din of the guitars, the pounding of the drums. 

                Kitty was behind her, wrapped an arm around her and she spun into her friend, laughing joyfully, blue eyes flashing in the light show from the computer.

_Space in your face I'm gonna drink  
the fucking ocean cause I ain't from a coast I'm just coastin  
Said I was an afterthought you'd bring along,  
well who you  after now, bitch? Run, mother fucka, run_

                Scott and Jean looked utterly confused. Scott was trying to ask her something, but she didn't care. She pulled him into the thick of things and pushed against him, holding Jean by the other hand. Shook her head carelessly, rolled her hips against his. The heat in her middle rose with the grind of the guitars, the spit of the electronics, the dripping sarcasm of the singer. 

                She wasn't Jeanne-Marie anymore. She wasn't afraid.

                She was Aurora. Light and blood and alive. Flashing and violent and pure and hot. She didn't need to be protected. She didn't need to be coddled or held or taken care of. Just like in the clubs in Montreal. Just like in the Danger Room. 

                Only this time, it was all for her.

                Industrial pounding behind her ears, in her chest, shaking her down to her core, questioning her existence, stripping her of anything but what it gave her. 

                All around her, the others bounced. She didn't even see them anymore, just felt the heat of them. Against her, next to her, laughing and jumping and dancing and smiling smiles of pure unadulterated freedom. She wrapped her arms around the one who held still, blonde and self-conscious. 

                Sam. She put her lips to his ear and laughed, made his hips move with hers, in time to the urgent thudding of the music. It slowed and she did too, nothing existing for her but the heat in her middle and the feeling of him against her, still cold, but warming slowly as she showed him how to move. 

                Loud again, guitars slamming, bass tripping over her, through her, into her, voices yelling, singing. Knees bent, lips parted, panting and smiling at him as he stared wide-eyed. 

                No words to this song. Just a swirling of sound, like someone had mixed up what was left of an explosion and put it over a thudding bass memory. Her hands in the air, her body twisting like it wasn't even her controlling it. Sweat through her shirt, in her jeans, running down her face. And she didn't care at all. 

                Jean-Paul in the corner, dancing with Rogue like he'd done this a time or two before, the two of them laughing and pushing against each other like they knew how to get what they wanted. Bobby and Kitty and Kurt and Ray jumping up and down like children, bouncing off of each other, landing with huge grins on their faces. Amara had a hold of Sam and was continuing the lesson she'd begun. Berto was behind her, spinning and jumping like he'd had lessons already, perfectly in time with the pulse of the electronic music flooding from Alex's speakers. Alex stared into the computer screen, his face lit up and grinning as he chose what the next song would be, leg twitching in time to the music. Jean had her arms around Scott's neck, trying desperately to make him move as he laughed at her, refusing to acquiesce to the demands of the music. 

                The door opened again, as the music waned.

                "What the hell is this noise—,"

                Jeanne-Marie ran to him, grabbing him by the forearms and pulling him inside.

                Mr. Logan, for his part, just shook his head at her. And smiled.

                The next morning, nearly everyone was in a good mood.

                She particularly enjoyed sitting next to Sam Guthrie at  breakfast, in fact. He couldn't even look her in the eye. It made her want to laugh, made her think of the absolute freedom of the flashing lights and the pounding music. Made her think of the press of bodies and the smell of sweat and the absolute nothingness. The surrender to that thing inside of her that allowed her such freedom. 

                And this time, she'd remembered everything. Not a moment forgotten. Not a moment of shame or fear or panic. It had just felt… good.

                Jean-Paul shot her a sidelong glance as she moved into the conference room, where all of the X-Men were expected to be after breakfast this morning. To talk about their new exercises, they'd been told. Something about taking it into the field. She sidled up to him and smiled beguilingly, wrapping his arm up in hers. "Good morning, brother," she said, in English. 

                "Sister," he spared her a half smile, and continued looking straight ahead. 

                "You're upset."

                It wasn't a question. She could feel it, really. She wasn't sure how it happened, it was an entirely new thing for her. But when Jean-Paul was angry, happy, anything but empty, she could tell, if he was near enough. And it wasn't his face. He rarely showed anything on his face. 

                "No."

                "Don't lie."

                "I'm not a liar."

                "I didn't call you a liar, my brother. I said you were lying right now."

                No reply from Jean-Paul. He just kept walking with her. 

                "Why are you angry?"

                She'd pinpointed it now. The kind of upset coming off of him. They'd only been together a little over two weeks, but it wasn't difficult to tell. Not for her. 

                "I'm… concerned."

                "Everyone else is happy."

                "Everyone else had you hanging all over them last night."

                She dropped his arm instantly.

                He stopped walking. 

                She stood in front of him now, eye to eye, fearless. Face flushing with blood, anger of her own. One night. One night of happiness. And he had to start this again. Just when she was so happy.

                He'd done it before, of course. But only in what Kitty had termed a "hopelessly passive aggressive" way. Hinting around that she'd flirted with Bobby too much. Kissed Roberto on the cheek one too many times. 

                Something inside of her flashed. The Aurora. 

                "Is that jealousy?" She knew it wasn't, but she said it anyway, because she wanted to make him angry. To make him feel what she was feeling. 

                He wrinkled his nose at her, and made a definite attempt to stay calm. Had she been anyone else, she knew, she would not have seen it. Would have fallen for it completely.

                But it didn't matter, to her. She felt it under the surface. Boiling in him like it was boiling in her. 

                "You are my sister. How can you even say such a thing? That's _not _what I mean, and you know it."

                She had seen it, of course. When her brother had kissed Pietro Maximoff. She knew. Did he think she needed to be _told _such things?

                "You're mad."

                "Angry, yes. Insane, no."

                ::Let it be.::

                His switch to joual now was pointed. He did not want to discuss it where others would hear. 

                She, for her part, didn't care. She held her ground, before him in the hallway. So he could not get around her. ::Why do you deny me my one happiness? I saw you dancing, saw you with Rogue.::

                ::Rogue is a friend.:: He sniffed it, like Jeanne-Marie was beneath him somehow.

                He had this in him. This creature who thought he was above the rules, above the rest of them. Two weeks, two days, it didn't matter. She knew it. She knew him.

                And he knew her too well to imply such things about her intentions. ::They are _my friends. All of them. They understand.::_

                ::You think those boys aren't dreaming of you?::

                ::And who are you dreaming of, Jean-Paul?::

                He sped up, she felt it. Watched what she knew others would see as a blur of his form, watched him use it to get around her.

                Watched him continue down the hall without her.

                ::And who is Rogue dreaming of?:: She fired at him, desperately. Anything to make him stop, turn, wait for her.

                He just kept walking. 

                She chewed her lip the entire meeting, barely hearing any of it. She had no idea, in fact, what they were all talking about. She spent the entire time chewing her lip, and avoiding her brother, who sat just next to her, as usual.

                Not that he was looking at her. 

                Infuriated. She was a grown woman, almost. Seventeen years old. Did she need a guardian to tell her who she could kiss and when? Who to dance with, to touch, to smile at?

                Did he? Did she say a word when he'd done what he did?

                No. She'd only laughed. 

                Why couldn't he be happy for her? Why didn't he understand?

                She could not remember being so angry before. It was an unfamiliar emotion, really. Fear, distress, hopelessness. She knew all of those well. But never really anger. 

                Only on those flashing nights she could remember in pieces. Only on the nights in the city, when she flew away from Madame's and into the night. But even then, she was so rarely angry.

                Why would he do this to her? Make her feel this way? Didn't he love her?

                She glared at him sideways, while Scott was talking. 

                He stared at the older boy, as if what he was saying were immensely important.

                She knew it was an act. They'd made fun of Scott in joual so many times since he'd come here, laughing over his efforts as fearless leader. They liked him, but he was so uptight. It made them laugh.

                Them.

                Why wouldn't he look at her? He was her _family_!

                "Aurora designed these new costumes," Jean was saying, and it caught her attention when her code name was mentioned, "For herself and Northstar. We were wondering if anyone else would want to change their costumes as well. It's been a year, and I'm happy with mine, but if you ask now, you might even be able to convince her to help you with them."

                She returned Jean's smile, attempting to look happy.

                "They look great," Scott was saying, "I'm almost tempted."

                A snort escaped her brother now, the first noise he'd made in the past hour. Quiet enough that only she would hear it.

                But she glared at him, and spoke so that they would all hear. "Did you have something to say about it?"

                "I can't imagine what that would look like, is all," he made a face that clearly said it didn't matter much to him, either way. Shrugged, nonchalantly. His voice was quiet. Across the table, they probably wouldn't even be able to understand him. His words were for her alone.  "More spandex, perhaps? Or maybe less?"

                Red flashed behind her eyes, and when she could see again, he was staring right back at her. Glaring with pale blue eyes the mirror of her own. Narrowed. 

                "I never expected to hear _you complain about handsome men in less clothing, Jean-Paul."_

                There was an audible gasp as they sucked in a collective breath at her words. The entire table, all of the X-Men, Professor Xavier included. They'd all heard, and understood.

                She felt it from him. The rush of anger, of betrayal. And then, suddenly, nothing.

                Absolutely nothing.

                "Aurora, Northstar, that's enough," The Professor said, finally, in that horribly smooth, even tone he had. The only one he had.

                Jean-Paul turned now, face completely composed, to look at Scott. "Are we done?"

                "Don't think I didn't see it, brother," She hissed at him. Why wouldn't he _look at her? "When you kissed him."_

                Scott was looking between them now, mouth agape. "Ah… um… well…"

                In fact, they all were.

                And Jean-Paul was still cold to her. She felt… nothing. He stared at Scott expectantly, jaw clenched.

                Her vision blurred. "Jean-Paul, _look at me!"_

                "Are we _done?" Jean-Paul insisted, as if he hadn't heard her. _

                "Yes," Jean finally said. 

                He stood, and stalked out of the room. Fast. But not Northstar fast. As if he wasn't running away from anything at all.

                She felt Kitty's hand on her arm suddenly. And then everyone else, looking at her. 

                Unlike her brother, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier disappeared from the room faster than any of them could have seen. And proceeded to lock herself in her room for the rest of the day. Completely forgetting who Aurora was altogether. 


	9. Chapter Eight: Stolen

**Chapter Eight: Stolen **(Remy)

                Remy LeBeau had seen a lot of things in his short lifetime. 

                Huge fucking robots trained to kill mutants.

                Gigantic glowing mechanical spiders raging through the streets.

                Jean-Luc kidnapped by their sworn blood enemies.

                A mummy coming back to life in Tibet.

                Said mummy attempting to change all of humanity into mutants.

                John Allerdyce claiming he found a woman attractive.

                Yeah, he'd seen some crazy shit, in his time. 

                But nothing had scared him quite like the look in that horrific being's glowing eyes when Remy had told him, _No. _

                Everything else, he could handle. All of it. He'd faced it down, and done what needed to be done.

                But that… that he wished he could forget. More than anything in the world. He just wanted to forget.

                _You do not say no to Sinister, you realize. _

                But he had. And he was still alive to tell the tale.

                Barely.

                If he could just get to a fucking phone before it was too late. 

                He had nothing on him. Not even the clothes he'd come in. Just this horrible fucking pair of white boxers and a sheet he'd grabbed on his way out. That and the huge bandage on his side. Looked like a fucking hospital escapee. If anyone saw him, they'd probably check him into the local asylum instantly.

                He was not entirely certain that they shouldn't do just that, at this point. Flashing red eyes, far more frightening than his own red-on-black. 

                His were attractive. Sexy, even, if he did say so himself.  

                Not these ones. These were repulsive. And absolutely fucking terrifying. 

                And he needed to get to a fucking phone. Needed to call Rogue. Or Wanda and Pietro Maximoff were well and truly fucked. Far more fucked than he. By miles and miles. 

                _Constant sound of bubbling. Like a water-bong in slow motion, really. That's what it made him think of, drugged up, head lulling forward, then to his shoulders, back and forth. Probably not so good for his neck, which had just been sliced through, in order to dig out the tracking device. He had no control over it. No control over the arms chained above his head. Or the legs held at the ankles, attached to the wall. He could feel them, of course. Feel the cold in his arms. Not much blood making it's way up to his hands, so he probably wouldn't have been able to do much with them even if he hadn't been pumped full of drugs. The legs, he could feel a little better. _

_                The gaping wound in his side, from that fucker with the girly hair who called himself Riptide… that, he could definitely feel._

_                Didn't hurt, exactly, not now. At least that he could thank the drugs for. But it was obvious, in his mind, that a piece of him was missing. A large hole in him, where his skin had once closed over a wall of muscle, that had held his guts in. _

_                The bandage was mostly doing that now. And not very well, really. _

_                It was really just an observation. He was pretty far removed the horror of it. He could just feel it, missing. That piece of him that had been there_. 

Apparently, he wasn't so far from London. Which was nice. 

                The girl in the Prefect had stopped willingly, seeing a half naked, well muscled man standing on the side of the road. On her way home. Wasn't that lovely. Look, _chere, ah've had some trouble. Obviously. Would y'mind givin' me a ride?_

                An hour later, she would've given him any kind of ride he wanted.

                He settled for her wallet, and a kiss. The latter, with her blessing. The former, she'd never notice till he was long gone.

                And now he was dialing furiously, stuck inside one of those horrible little red phone booths that made him think of John's fucking Mr. Bean tapes. 

                _Sacre__ mere, but that Aussie was begging for an ass kicking, Cajun style. _

                "Xavier Institute."

                He froze for just an instant, accessing his formidable mental rolodex. Unfamiliar voice. Accent. Joual. Québécois. "Who am ah speakin' wi'?"

                "You called _me, _monsieur_," Cocky. Young. Male. "You go first."_

                Another voice now, in the background. "Give me that, Jean-Paul." And now, that voice. Hers. Close to the phone, as the boy laughed in the background now. "Hello, Xavier Institute, sorry about him, he's Canadian."

                "Rogue."

                A sharp breath. "…Remy?"

                "_Chere__, listen to me."_

                "Remy, where are ya? Ya sound bad…"

                "Listen, please. Not much time."

                _"Why did he send you?"_

_                But Remy couldn't have answered if he wanted to. And the huge looming man, this vampiric nightmare covered in metal, knew it. He'd done this to him._

_                Cold. So cold, all over. Mad scientist laboratory. Like a bad horror film, a B-grade sci-fi flick. Something they'd watch late at  night, back home, when the summer got so hot no one could sleep, the boys trying to scare each other since there was nothing else to do.  _

_                But it wasn't hot here. _

_                "Oh no answer? Well, then, I suppose we could find out on our own."_

_                The empty ache in his side. Ah. Mon dieu. _

_                "You had your chance to help me. To be my assassin. If you hadn't said no, this would've been much easier."_

_                No. No, no, no. Never. Whatever he was, it was worse than Magneto. Worse than Sabretooth. Worse than any of them, all of them, rolled into one. Eyes like Apocalypse. Like someone who knew Apocalypse. Like the Horsemen. _

_                "I suppose I could offer you one more chance. But I know what you'll say. It doesn't matter, anyhow. I'll find out all about you, and about your master, with or without your help."_

_                Ridiculously, he felt a flash of anger. _

_                Magneto was not his _master. 

                He slid down in the booth, knees folding up to his chest, now that he'd warned her. About the twins. About what was coming. 

                Holding his side in.

                "Remy… Remy, are ya there?"

                "Here, _cheri." Was good, to hear her voice. He had a feeling he might not hear it again. _

                "Don't move, we're comin' for ya."

                "_Non, too dangerous. He'll come for me. Jus' make sure 'dey don' get de kids."_

                "Remy LeBeau, don't make me hunt you down mahself. You just hold still," She sounded close to panic. Like she really cared.

                He knew he had to go. Any minute now, he'd be caught. He'd been lucky, so far. Lucky, and damn good at disappearing. "Goodbye."

                "Remy! Stop, don't you dare hang up! Ah'll keep you on this phone until they get there if ah have to!"

                "Won' leave London. If he don' catch me, 'dey find me easy enough. Just go, now, gotta find dem, Rogue. Before he does."

                "Be careful."

                "Remy always careful. See you 'fore too long."

                Couldn't help but think, it sounded an awful lot like a lie.

                _"Twins…" _

_                Remy had given up his attempts not to writhe in pain, not to yell, a long time ago. _

_                "Interesting. Do they have some sort of link, do you think? What kind of genetic intricacies would be involved in a pair like Wanda and Pietro Maximoff? Children of one of the world's most powerful mutants…?"_

_                It was almost as if he _wanted _Remy to hear it. As if it didn't matter, because he'd be dead soon anyhow. The pain ripping though him, starting at the base of his skull, shooting painfully through every current in his nervous system, so that he could feel each nerve, each synapse, each singular  fucking electrical impulse that made his body communicate with itself. The pain would kill him, eventually. _

_                "Not two of the world's most powerful mutants, granted… but one of them. It bears looking into, really."  ___

_                Of all the goddamn things he could've taken interest in, of all the things he'd dug out of Remy's now sizzling brain. He chose them. Never before had he been so aware of how fantastic it was, really. The hopelessly tangled pathways through his body, that sent messages to and from his cells. Never until he felt that machine sent the signals into the back of his head, felt them shoot through him. Like his veins were frying. Like his powers had collapsed into him somehow, refused to pour out, and charged him on the inside._

_                "If their powers are as dissimilar as you seem to think, my friend, perhaps they are simply an accident. Perhaps the fact that they're twins lends them nothing special. But, of course, there's only one way to find out about that." _

                He was in the alley now. Which alley, he didn't know, and didn't care. 

                A pair of jeans and a shirt. And he looked almost normal again. When he had to blend in, he could stand upright. Like he hadn't been torn into by a caffeine junky whirlwind with an interest in shiny objects.

                It didn't matter, if it hurt. 

                It mattered that of all the things, of all the goddamn secrets in Remy LeBeau's head, all the man—the _thing_—had taken an interest in, was the news of the twins. Like this little information gathering mission he'd been sent on didn't matter. 

Like he didn't give a fuck. 

Like he didn't care about Magneto at all.

                Like he wasn't even threatened that someone had made it past his security so easily, into the heart of his stronghold. 

                And that was what really made Remy nervous. 

                He could feel it, when someone was nervous. When they were happy. When they wanted a smile or a hug or a fuck. He always had been able to, since he was just a kid. It was part of why he'd almost believed him, when they called him a demon. The white devil with the red eyes. Because he knew they were scared, when they looked at him. And if they were scared of him, he must have _something _worth being afraid of, right? 

                But Sinister hadn't been nervous. Hadn't batted an eye. As if he had _let _Remy in, as if he'd opened the front door and invited him in for lunch.

                He wasn't human. Whatever the fuck he was, he wasn't human.

                And Remy didn't even want to think of what he'd do to those kids, if he got hold of them. 

Or how it would be his fault, for that matter. Because he'd been caught. For the first time in his life, he'd been caught. And he wasn't going to pay for that mistake himself. He wouldn't even have the satisfaction of seeing someone who might've stood a chance paying for it, like Magneto. 

                It'd be Wanda and Pietro Maximoff who paid for it. 

                _"Look like a couple of punks to me. Easy enough."_

_                "They are powerful… punks," Sinister loomed over his four lackeys, his voice filling the entire lab. "And they have friends. But they are children. It should not prove too difficult. Consider it… a test."_

_                The one with the green hair, the woman, laughed at that. "Consider it done."_

_                "What you want a couple of kids for, boss?"_

_                Something that should have been a laugh escaped the huge figure then. But it was too cold, empty, and inhuman to pass as such. More like a long sound somewhere between amusement and irritation. Like if god decided to laugh one day, because he finally noticed what a bunch of idiots he'd created, when he made humanity. Like the idea of the huge man questioning him was so ridiculous, he couldn't help himself. _

_                "Science."_

_                Remy twitched, pushing the inside of his wrist against the manacle holding him to the wall, feeling out the latches. He folded one finger down, as far as it would go, and felt for the latch he knew he should find there, on the edge. Sticking out, just a bit. Just a fraction of a centimeter…_

"Gambit, come with me."

                He shot up, breathing hard, and charged the nearest object to him reflexively.

                Storm. Watching him in the dark. "The X-Men are with the Maximoffs. Come with me."

                He looked at his hand, and nearly laughed. In a helpless sort of way.

                He'd charged the fucking telephone. 

                "Dare I ask," she continued, as he painfully pulled himself out of the bed, "why you did not call Magneto with this information?"

                "I didn' have his phone number on me, _chere," he snarled, reflexively moving his arm down to his side. As if to hold himself in._

                "Now is hardly the time for jokes."

                He pointed to his neck, to the slice he knew was obvious in it. "Chip used to be 'dere. Trackin' chip. And he didn' exactly hand me ma clothes and send me ou' de door, if y'catch ma meaning. So no communications device made it out alive."

                She just looked at him. "Magneto doesn't have a phone?"

                He narrowed his eyes at her dangerously, seriously reconsidering charging the telephone again, just so he could throw it at her. Did the woman honestly think that if one of his operatives were caught, cut up, and had divulged all of his secrets, no matter how unwillingly, Magneto would have a hotline set up just for the occasion?  

                "Hardly a time for jokes, _non?"_

                "And how do you have _our phone number memorized?"_

                That, he'd rather not admit to. "Call it a personal interest. Y'gon' take me back, or y'gon' stand here starin' all day?"

                "Do you know where Magneto is?" 

                Storm's watch beeped at them before he could answer.  

                In a way, it was a good thing. Because he didn't have a damn clue where the man was. Magneto had become increasingly paranoid and secretive about his activities since the whole… cluster fuck. Not to mention that business with Pete.

                But in another way, it was bad. Very bad. Because a sinking sensation in his stomach told him that whoever was sending Storm that signal had nothing but bad news for them.


	10. Chapter Nine: A Problem with Authority

**Chapter Nine: A Problem With Authority  **(Scott)

                He'd wanted Alex to come here all along. He'd been excited, when he'd agreed to stay, after the encounter with Apocalypse. Hell, he'd almost offered to share a room with him, despite the single that was offered him with his new status as High School Graduate. 

                But after two and a half weeks with the Beaubier twins, Scott was suddenly wondering if maybe he'd been a real idiot to encourage his brother to join the team. Apparently, family made things a little more complicated.

                He sighed, and knocked.

                As expected, he got no answer.

                "Jean-Paul, come on man, I know you're in there."

                Again, no answer.

                So he knocked again. "Look, I'm not going to just disappear, as much as you probably want me to. So just let me in."

                God. He really didn't want to do this. He'd never seen anything like that… display this morning in his entire life. Sure, things got a little dramatic sometimes. A house full of hormonal teenagers with barely controlled mutant capabilities was bound to cause a few explosions. But that… that was just…

                Wrong.

                Another sigh. Another knock. "Jean-Paul, quit being an asshole and let me in."

                Footsteps.

                Somehow, he knew the guy would respond to insults better than a little TLC. 

                Which was why he'd been sent instead of Jean, who was presently trying to sweet talk her way into her own room. Which Jeanne-Marie had locked her out of.

                The lock clicked to the side, and the door swung open. And there was Jean-Paul, hair a wreck, eyes glazed, wearing nothing but a pair of sweats. 

                This did _not look good. He'd never seen the younger boy looking anything less than GQ. Sure he hadn't been around that long. But he definitely looked… bad._

                "Can I help you?" His sarcasm was palpable.

                He'd been ready for the guy's venom, he thought. But the combination of his brittle words with that look on his face, like he'd just bitten into something awful... he had no idea what he was supposed to say to fix this. "Sorry… did I wake you up?"

                "Yes."

                Somehow, he didn't believe it. "Talk to me?"

                "No."

                The door started to close again.

                He held out a hand to stop it. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened. No one cares, you know."

                "About what?"

                "Don't be a dick."

                Again, results. Jean-Paul finally let go of the door and ran a hand through his hair, as if he were just now realizing the state in which he'd answered the door was not his natural one. It was a halfhearted attempt, sure. But it was something. 

                "She's really upset."

                "She should be."

                "Are you going to let me in, or make me stand here in the doorway?"

                The darker boy sighed, quietly, and turned around to walk into his room, throwing himself onto the bed, face down.

                Scott closed the door quietly behind him, and pulled out the chair under the desk, settling himself into it slowly.

                He really didn't have a plan, on this one.

                And he was always better with a plan.

                Ok, so yeah, it was unexpected. So Jean-Paul liked guys. Big deal, right? Was he upset that they knew? Or was it that Jeanne-Marie had made such a show of it? Or… something else entirely that he was missing…?

                God. They really should've sent Jean.

                "So… which part of this are you upset about, exactly?"

                "What makes you think I'm upset?" Came the acerbic reply from the pillows. 

                "Seriously, don't make this any harder on yourself. I'm not leaving till I figure this out."

                Jean-Paul flipped over, finally, and sat up against his headboard, pulling at his hair again. But not as if he were trying to smooth it. Like he was… distraught. "Well, actually, a few things about it are upsetting. The first thing is that my sister is a fucking nutcase. The second one is that she basically mocked my sexual orientation in front of a group of my peers who were completely unaware of my status as a homosexual, and whom I would have rather spoken to individually about it, had the issue arisen."

                Well, at least he did _sound distraught. _

                In fact, he sounded _overly business-like._

                Right. More sarcasm. Come on Summers, get with it.

                "Alright, I can't help with the nutcase thing. But I can assure you that no one cares who you want to sleep with." he offered, honestly. There was no way he could go head to head with the guy on his own turf, with this sarcastic bullshit. So he'd stick to his own. Honesty. 

                "Well, thank you for your assurance, but you'll forgive me if I, in my teenage angst, fear that not everyone is quite as accepting as you," he was rolling his eyes now. "I don't give a fuck anyhow, either way. Love me, leave me, whatever. It's no one's business, and I'm not ashamed at the end of the day, that's all that matters on that front. The_ point_ is that she did it for no reason other than to embarrass me. And she should know better. And yeah, it's pretty fucking upsetting."

                Scott could actually see his point. If it had been him… well ok, that was a pretty complicated scenario to construct… but if Alex had made him look like an asshole in front of his teammates somehow, he'd be pretty pissed off. "Fair enough. Why would she do it, though? I mean, she's usually a really nice girl."

                Jean-Paul's expression changed suddenly. From that frosty, irritated expression to… something else. It was no less dangerous. But it was definitely a little more… 

                Ok, so "vulnerable" was probably not the best word to apply to Jean-Paul Beaubier. That much, he'd learned in the first five minutes of their association. Not that he didn't like the guy, he was ok, and he was capable, and he really could be funny when he decided to stop being the token asshole for the team for a second. But yeah. He really didn't do "vulnerable" so well. 

                At least, he'd never thought so before.

                "I don't know."

                Now Scott finally got a chance to roll his eyes. "Man, I really hope you don't think I'm buying that."

                Jean-Paul's head snapped around to face him again, "Why wouldn't you?"

                "She was pissed off the whole meeting. She kept looking at you. Everyone noticed, man, what happened?"

                The younger boy's eyes narrowed, "Going to kick me off the team if I don't tell you?"

                Scott just shook his head. "What the hell is wrong with you? I'm just trying to help. We're a team, a family, and we have to hold our shit together. It's not like I'm trying to steal all your secrets so I can use them to blackmail you later."

                Jean-Paul just looked at him, expression totally unreadable, and pulled his knees up to his chest.

                He looked an awful lot like a kid, when he did that. 

                "So talk," Scott encouraged him again. "What happened with Aurora?"

                The other boy blinked at him, and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees. Then sighed. "She was angry because I… implied that she might be throwing herself at every boy in the mansion."

                Actually, she was.

                But having seen Jean-Paul's temper, he thought that was a bit of information he should keep to himself. He knew well enough that it was one thing to talk shit about your own sibling. But if someone else agreed with you, they were definitely going to get the shit kicked out of them. And the way the guy just got quiet, then walked out of the room earlier in the morning… 

                Quiet, yeah. So quiet, it almost hurt his ears. The guy had clearly been ready to blow. And he really didn't need him blowing up right here and right now.

                "Well… ok.  So why are you worried?"

                "Because she's making an idiot of herself."

                "I really hope you didn't phrase it like that, Jean-Paul."

                "I'm not a complete moron, you know."

                "Calm down, man. Here to help, remember?"

                Jean-Paul seemed to squeeze in on himself, flexing his arms as if he could pull his knees further into his chest somehow. Like he wanted to disappear completely. "Well, there was the comment about her designing you a new costume."

                "Yeah, what was that anyhow, didn't catch it."

                "You weren't meant to," he admitted, shrugging, "I was just commenting that she'd probably have you in more spandex… or, you know, less."

                Scott felt one of his eyebrows going up in alarm. He wasn't sure if it was more at the idea of Jeanne-Marie designing him a new, more "flattering" costume, or of being used in one of her brother's little digs against her. "I'm suddenly sorry I asked."

                Jean-Paul ignored the comment, and continued, "So I suppose she deserved some sort of retribution. But I didn't say it loud enough for everyone to hear. This morning she asked why I was upset, since everyone else was in such a good mood. I believe the words I used to respond were, _everyone else had you hanging all over them last night_, if you must know."

                Scott gave a low whistle, "Whoa there. See, when you said you weren't a complete moron, I honestly thought that meant you'd used _nicer _words."

                "Oh look, he has a sense of humor."

                "Seriously, don't make me hit you."

                Jean-Paul sighed at him, and suddenly let go of his legs, pulling them up under him Indian-style, and leaning his elbows on his thighs, shoulders slumped sullenly. Once again, proving that insults and threats were the way to go by continuing to talk. "I've been… nagging her about it. It's embarrassing. Not for me, I mean, for her."

                "Ever think to ask her why she does it? Maybe something's wrong."

                The younger boy shrugged. "Something's wrong with all of us, Scott."

                "I hope this isn't the freak complex thing again."

                He shook his head, suddenly looking defeated. "No. I mean in our heads. Everyone here has had some kind of fucked up incident in their past. And Jeanne-Marie… she's had more than the rest of us put together. But that doesn't mean I can watch her behave like that."

                "You love her, right?"

                "Of course. Why else would I care?" It was a flat, rhetorical question. He sounded defeated too, to match the look of him.

                "Loving someone means you have to love the stuff that pisses you off too, you know. You don't get to pick and choose. Maybe your sister is just affectionate?"

                Jean-Paul arched an eyebrow at him.

                He reminded him very much, at that moment, of a young, disheveled Spock.

                Seriously. Ears and all.

                "She's insane and you know it. And she's throwing herself at anyone who'll let her because she needs the validation. It's self-destructive and embarrassing. Come on, you can learn that shit watching sitcoms. You know, the same place you got that little love theory, as touching as it was."

                Scott sighed, defeated. "Look, all I'm saying is that if you know she has issues, maybe you should try and work through them with her, instead of condemning her for them."

                The other boy's jaw muscle flexed once. Twice. Other than that, he didn't move.

                "Alright, just think about it, ok? We need you two on top of your game. And seriously, everyone is worried about you," he stood now, shaking his head. He didn't really think the guy was going to listen to him, after all. All things considered, it'd gone fairly well.

                It occurred to him that what Jean-Paul Beaubier needed was a hug.

                But he hadn't signed on for hugging half naked teammates, male _or _female. That was just inviting disaster, really. Mainly from Jean.

                So the pep talk would really have to do. If it became necessary later, he could always send Jean in with the hug.

                "How's that for touching?"

                "Brings a tear to my eye," came the driest reply yet.

                "I figured."

                "I'll think about it."

                Scott stopped his slow progress to the door, shocked. 

                Jean-Paul stretched out on the bed again, picking up a nearby magazine, as if to let him know the conversation was over. 

                But he had one more question, and he couldn't resist. "Hey, JP?"

                The other boy looked up from his magazine, with a long suffering expression on his face.

                "Who'd you kiss?"

                He raised an eyebrow, and actually grinned. "Wouldn't you love to know."

                And Scott Summers left his room feeling like he might not be so bad at this team leader thing after all. At least, as long as his teammates responded to threats and stubbornness. And really, who wouldn't?

                But it still didn't ease his fears about Jeanne-Marie. Sure, he could understand that she'd be upset, after the shit he'd said. But to put on a show like that… he would've expected her, even on one of her more extroverted days, to just give it back, in kind. Under her breath, like he had been. 

                It just didn't make sense. She really was a sweet girl. Pretty much the opposite of her hard-headed brother, really. So what the hell had happened?

                When he went to check on the girls, a few hours later, his fears were only made worse. 

                He knocked softly on the door, and since it was partially open, pushed inside. Jean was sitting on Jeanne-Marie's bed, holding her, and letting the girl cry on her shoulder. 

                It was almost dinner, for god's sake. And she was still crying about something that happened after breakfast. 

                Jean looked up at him and shook her head quickly, her eyes saying pretty much everything he needed to know. It wasn't going well.

                He moved further into the room, sat on the edge of the bed, and reached out to smooth some of the younger girl's hair. "Hey, JM. Dinner's almost ready. Everyone's wanting to see you."

                The answer that came was in French, and choked with sobs. He had a feeling that even if he _did speak the language, he wouldn't have caught it. _

                "You saw Jean-Paul?" Jean asked him, as if the girl crying on her couldn't hear her at all.

                He shot her a questioning look, and her green eyes said something else entirely this time. Don't bother. She's not listening. "Yeah, a few hours ago. I could probably go get him, if you want."

                Jean shook her head, "No, let him come when he's ready. They both probably need to calm down some. And I don't think she could handle it right now."

                Scott looked at the fragile form cradled in Jean's lap, and realized that he hardly recognized her. As Aurora, she made a hell of an impressive figure. And she was a natural—intuitive, quick, a fast learner. She and her brother both, really. 

                But this… she didn't look a damn thing like Aurora right now. 

                "Kitty wanted to come up. Should I let her?"

                Jean nodded, and Scott realized that she'd probably been taking care of the girl all day, and was in need of a break. Desperately. 

                "Ok, I'll be back with her."

                "Thanks," Jean gave a lopsided smile, and shot a worried look at Jeanne-Marie as the girl drew a ragged breath.

                "Something in her snapped, Professor," Jean was saying, rubbing at her temples distractedly, looking very tired, and a lot older than nineteen. "Whatever happened between the two of them, it broke something in her."

                He hated seeing her like this. He fought an urge to put his arms around her. But as the oldest of the young X-Men, they both had responsibilities. And those would have to come before their… relationship, sometimes. And right now, they had to take care of this, and not themselves. 

                But he really did want to. Badly.

                Instead, he just shook his head, returning his thoughts to the twins. "No way. He told me what he said, it wasn't nice, but it wasn't _that_ bad. He was just giving her shit for being the female counterpart to Roberto. Typical brother stuff, I'd do it myself if she was my sister. He wasn't sweet about it, the guy's an asshole—," 

                Xavier shot him a look.

                Which he ignored, too irritated by the entire situation to really care, "but it wasn't anything compared to her trying to publicly humiliate him like that. Just typical brother and sister crap."

                "I fear that Jeanne-Marie has bigger problems than we'd originally thought," the Professor leaned back in his chair now, shaking his head sadly. "Her time at Madame DuPont's has damaged her psyche to the point of fragmentation, it seems. At times, it's almost as if there are two Jeanne-Maries. One who is shy, quiet, afraid, the one you brought back here, the one upstairs right now. And the other who is confident, loud, and, I admit, quite a flirt. The one we see in the Danger Room, and the one we saw this morning."

                Jean grimaced at that, "MPD?"

                Xavier nodded, "Perhaps, though I'd have to do a complete analysis to know for certain. She definitely shows signs of it. And it seems that an emotionally traumatic event can be the trigger for her to revert into the scared persona, and slowly, the confident young woman comes out again. It's only a theory, of course, but it would certainly explain her behavior."

                "How's Jean-Paul?" Jean was obviously changing the subject on purpose, unwilling to spend anymore of her precious sanity on this particular one. 

                "He's fine. Irritated. Grouchy. You can hardly tell the difference, really," Scott shrugged, unwilling to divulge the other boy's secrets so easily. That was pretty much all they needed to know. 

                "It can't have been easy for him, to have everyone learn about his orientation like that," Xavier was shaking his head sadly, "It may seem like a small thing, to the two of you, but put yourself in his position—anything that singles him out as different is likely to be painful."

                "The wonderful world of being a teenager," Jean shook her head.

                "No, really," Scott insisted, "I think he's ok with it. I mean, not with the way it happened, but he doesn't care if everyone knows. He's really not the kind of guy who cares what everyone thinks of him."

                He realized, as he said it, that this was actually the thing about the guy he liked. That he really _didn't care. He may have been annoyingly stubborn, extremely arrogant, and a pain in the ass when it came to authority figures… but at least he was honest._

                He could appreciate that, really. He catalogued it, along with his list of strengths and weaknesses of the rest of the team, in his head. Good to keep those things in mind.

                "In fact…," he continued, as the idea kept coming, "he's the exact opposite of his sister. She needs validation, like he said. He'd just as soon tell us all to stuff it, if he thought he'd be better off."

                Jean's eyebrows raised in alarm, "Not exactly the best way to advertise him to a team whose lives may depend on him in the near future."

                "Trust me, I'm not advertising him. He's a pain in my ass."

                Another look from Xavier.

                "Sorry, Professor," he offered up this time, figuring a second offense deserved an apology, at least. "But he _is good, and so is she. I've seen what they can do, and I'd trust them with my life. And they could be great."_

                In the short silence that followed, he looked up at Xavier. And saw him looking at the two of them with a faint smile on his face. Something like… pride, really.

                And found himself grinning back. 

                For his part, Scott would have chosen not to trust a mysterious phone call from Gambit.

                This instinct, however, had proven faulty upon arrival at the Brotherhood boarding house.

                He came onto the scene with Jean and suddenly wondered if they had been stupid to send Rogue, Nightcrawler, and Iceman to London with Storm. The shit, as they say, had hit the fan.

                He looked around, quickly, for the X-Men who should already be there. 

                Shadowcat was with Avalanche, pulling him up off the ground near a pile of limbs that resembled Toad and Blob remarkably. Nearby, a green-haired woman in a silver costume was digging her way out of a massive crater in the ground. 

                Northstar was in the air, an unconscious Quicksilver in his arms, flying into the house. A spinning blur of flashing knives was mangling the door to the house, clearly planning on ruining JP's plan to keep Pietro out of the thick of things.

                Aurora was also flying, darting in and out of long, silver, crackling projectiles that a hideously ugly, apish man was firing at her. She was, as Jean had sworn she would, performing admirably. As if she hadn't been reduced to a quivering child only yesterday. He saw the Scarlet Witch nearby, hands glowing blue and green, about to fire a hex at the huge mutant charging her.

                What the hell had happened here, he didn't know. But he was suddenly very glad he'd sent the twins ahead with Kitty, or things might've been even worse right now than they already were.

                "Scott!" He heard Jean yell. He spun instantly to see the green-haired woman had clawed her way out of the crater and was advancing on them, while Kitty was still trying to scrape a half-incapacitated Avalanche off the ground. He put his hand to his visor, ready to fire a warning shot, but the woman suddenly froze. 

                He looked over to Jean, _felt something coming through her. She was fighting to knock this woman out. She had it. He could feel it as certain as if she'd said it. Jean would take care of this one._

                Cyclops turned his attention to Aurora, who seemed in the most immediate danger. He leapt to the side, away from Jean and the other woman, and fired a blast at the man attempting to spear her, on high power, sending him smashing into the house, ripping through the wall entirely. 

                Aurora was immediately at his side, accent almost completely gone, just like her brother's barely there one. "When we got here, the three boys were unconscious, and Lance was nearly hit, but he managed to stop her just in time. Wanda was still upstairs, and came when she heard the noise. My brother took Pietro, but we have no one to guard him, and Northstar is needed in the fight."

                Jean swooned not terribly far from him, and he suddenly felt dizzy. He'd have to get further away from her, if he was to remain unaffected by this. "Understood. Northstar," he hit the communications pad on his arm, "Bring Quicksilver to me, the spinning guy is on your tail."

                "On my way," Came the clipped answer.

                There was a crash to their right, as the Scarlet Witch was sent flying, headlong, into Avalanche and Shadowcat, and the huge man came barreling after them.

                "Shit," he swore, knowing any shot he took at that angle could catch the pile up of his friends easily, "Aurora, distract him, get me a shot."

                She flew off, unquestioning, and proceeded to fly loops around the man almost faster than he could see, confusing him utterly.

                Northstar was next to him now, and dropped his charge unceremoniously to the ground. "We have to get them out of here, Cyclops."

                "Get a hold of Wanda, if you can, You have a better shot at getting close than I do." He picked the thin silver-haired boy up over his shoulder and ran to get further from Jean and the woman, who was now on her knees in front of Jean.

                Northstar blurred, and was gone.

                The flashing bladed whirlwind came out of the mangled front door, now simply a white-haired, sour faced young man, but Scott's attention was completely taken by the clear shot he now had at the huge mutant Aurora had distracted for him. He dropped Pietro, focused on the huge mutant, and sent a powerful blast in his direction.

                But the white-haired mutant knocked his target out of the way.

                Anger flashing through him, he blasted the whirlwind, knocking him to the ground quickly and scanning the area for Wanda.

                She was pinned to the wall of the house, by the huge mutant he'd been trying to stop, hands glowing dangerously again. 

                Northstar and Aurora were on him, however. When they called to him, he looked up and the twins reached out for each other. Scott looked away just in time to avoid the flare they caused, and the burly man reeled backwards. 

                But a flying harpoon slammed Wanda into the wall, catching her long coat and pinning her against the siding again. 

                Scott snapped his attention over to the spear-man making his way out of the rubble of the wall just as he felt the ground begin to shake. The man leveled a harpoon in the direction of Lance and Kitty, and fired it off just before the directional quake swallowed him. Scott raised his hand to shoot the projectile off its path, but before he could manage, Kitty had phased herself and a still staggering Avalanche right through it.

                Movement in the corner of his eye, as the green-haired woman hit the ground and Jean followed soon after. Both done in entirely. He reached down for Quicksilver again, to run over to Jean, taking one last shot at the whirlwind fellow as he tried to get to his feet.

                But had bigger problems as the huge mutant had recovered from his momentary blindness and was now charging at him recklessly. He let Pietro slide lifelessly back to the ground and turned his blast onto the barreling wall of mutant coming at them… 

                And the mutant kept coming. Slower, yeah. But he was still, somehow, standing. He turned up the intensity of it, that barely controlled power in him making him hot, heating him up from the inside out.

                A scream. A girl's scream. 

                He stopped the beam, the object of his power surge staggering now, but still stumbling toward him and his charge. A split second, he re-focused on the action to his left. Trying to take it all in, feeling it slipping out of his control. The white-haired whirlwind mutant had an unconscious Aurora in his arms, holding a throwing star threateningly to her neck and backing way from an irate Northstar. Kitty was phasing up out of the ground behind him, preparing to take him out, but he could tell that Northstar was about to crack.

                A crackling of energy and Wanda, free of her coat and standing with legs far apart, arms out, an expression of pure bloodlust on her face, fired a hex bolt at the spear-man, who had dug his way out of Avalanche's chasm, and had yet another rocketing toward him. But he got his shot off.

                "Northstar, Wanda, _now!" Scott shouted, knowing there was no way the girl could move in time to keep from being impaled or sucked down into the earthquake with the man trying to spear her. It would have to be one or the other._

                Jean-Paul blurred. 

                The oversized pile of mutant was moving faster now, toward him and the unconscious Quicksilver.

                Shadowcat reached the whirlwind holding Aurora, grabbing his attention and causing him to turn his back to Scott, giving him a shot. He made his choice, reached up for his visor to knock him out, even if it meant toppling him onto Aurora. 

                A wave of sickness ripped through him. And the world went black, very suddenly.

                When his eyes opened, Jean was hovering over him.

                An angel. God, she looked just like an angel.

                But his stomach clenched before he could think too much about that, and he closed his eyes again, fighting a very insistent urge to vomit. Violently.

                Her hand was cool on his head. "You're awake. You were the closest, so you were hit the hardest."

                "What happened?" He tried to speak, but something was caught in his throat. 

                "That mutant, the woman I was fighting, woke up and knocked nearly everyone out, except Jean-Paul and Wanda, who were already too far away."

                He sat up, suddenly, throwing off her hand.

                And shivered, swooning again. Sick. In his throat. Stomach weak. 

                God, what had she done to him?

                "Where are Pietro and Jeanne-Marie?"

                No answer.

                He looked around his room. Panicked. 

                "Where _are they, Jean?"_

                She just looked at him, with very wide, very sad eyes. 

                He shuddered violently, and fought his way out of bed, trying to calm the sickness in him and still scramble back into his clothes somehow. Had to get them back. Had to find them. Had to keep them safe. 

                He'd failed them. 

                "Scott, no, just lay back—,"

                "Not now, Jean, we have to go and you know it. Where are the others? The Brotherhood, Kitty, Jean-Paul—,"

                "Right here, _mon ami." From the doorway._

                Scott stopped. And forced himself to stand up straight, and look Jeanne-Marie's brother in the eye. 

                He looked like hell. Still in his costume, slashed down one arm and bleeding, eyes freezing him on sight. At least he was in one piece. And mostly unharmed. 

                Jean-Paul was staring him down, however, and blurred for an instant. And was suddenly standing in front of him. Jaw muscles flexing. Hands clenching and unclenching.

                "Jean-Paul…," Jean started, taking a tentative step forward.

                Scott held out a hand to her, but never looked away from the other boy. "I'm sorry," he told him. "We'll get her back."

                "You told me to take care of Wanda, and I did," Northstar snarled at him. "And who took care of my sister?"

                Scott's heart leapt into his throat. The intensity behind that stare being leveled at him… he understood it. But it was just a little frightening, nevertheless. "You couldn't have helped her, and I had a clear shot. Wanda would have died."

                At perfectly normal human speed, Jean-Paul Beaubier pulled back one arm, and clipped Scott painfully with a solid right hook to the jaw.

                Reflexively, the older boy took a step back, reeling from the pain of the hit, and the nausea he still hadn't shaken. Completely, utterly stunned.

                "Jean-Paul!" Jean gasped, running to his side and steadying him in her arms. 

                The weight of her, her solidity, brought him back to himself, and he looked back up at his assailant.

                Standing there, clenching his jaw again, otherwise totally expressionless. But his chest was heaving, and his breath was loud. Shaky. "You _missed_."

                Scott opened his mouth to reply, to explain, to berate… he didn't know what for.

                But the other boy had already turned his back, and was out the door before he could speak.

                "What the _hell is his problem?"_

                Scott only shook his head. "I think he hadn't even apologized to her."

                "That's no reason to—,"

                "I'll heal. Let's go, we have to find them. Now."


	11. Chapter Ten: Flashfire

**Chapter Ten: Flashfire **(Pietro)

                _You complete and utter idiots!_

                Now that sounded familiar. Sounded kinda like dad—Magneto. Magneto, that was who it reminded him of. How'd he get his voice to echo like that anyhow?

_                I don't _care _if you found another set of twins—you brought me one of each! What can I do with one of each?_

Twins. He had a twin. Course, she hated him most of the time. Not that he could blame her. Well, no, actually he could. What's not to love?

_                You were supposed to bring me the Maximoff twins. Who is this girl?_

Maximoff. Yeah, that was him alright. Pietro Maximoff, in fact. Quicksilver. Can't catch Quicksilver! Well, ok someone had, sorta, once. But that guy was another story…

Light. Christ, what was with that light? And who the hell was crying? 

Pietro Maximoff opened his eyes and sat up, at once. 

                And immediately lay back down on the cold, hard floor, overcome with a sudden sinking nausea. 

                He squeezed his eyes shut, the very _thought _of motion making him want to vomit instantly. And that made him nervous. Motion. That's what he _did. And the nervousness only served to intensify the nausea, which made him want to…_

                Ugh. Jesus Christ, where the hell _was_ he?

                He lay on the ground until the waves of sick started to wear off, and finally opened his eyes again.

                Bars. Bars all around him. And outside of them, a lab. A proper fucking mad scientist lab. Stone walls and torches mixed with gigantic flat screen monitors and walls of medical equipment. A bubbling vat of green liquid. He didn't want to know what that thing floating in it was. Not at all.

                The nausea started to return, and he looked away quickly. Toward the sound of sobbing near him.

                "Jeanne-Marie?" He scrambled over, without really standing up, to where the dark haired girl was backed into a corner, knees up to her chest, hair covering her face as she wept. "Jeanne-Marie, what happened?"

                Whatever she said, he couldn't understand a damn word. "Listen girl, I took Spanish, not French, so you're gonna have to slip back into English and give me the story."

                She looked up at him, piercing blue eyes full of tears. 

                He would've had trouble recognizing her as the same girl from the party, if not for the hair and those eyes. Something weird about her… 

                "Jeanne-Marie…?"

                "Ah, so you're awake."

                Lightning fast, Pietro was on his feet, and at the bars. His mouth was open, and he had a string of expletives ready to spew at whoever the hell dared to capture him…

                But he stopped when he saw the man—no, not the man, the… thing standing before him. Huge. Dark. Dracula meets Colossus with glowing red eyes. Staring right through him.

                His heart sped up. That happened pretty often, really. Most of his body tried to speed up without his permission, most of the time. But luckily, he had extraordinary control over his powers as a mutant. He could always make it calm down, if he wanted, tell it where and when to speed up, how much to speed up, and when to quit. 

                It wasn't listening right now, however.

                It pounded away in his chest, but he could've sworn it was in his throat.

                "Shit," was about all he could force out of his normally wicked mouth.

                "Shit indeed, Master Maximoff."

                "W-who the… who the hell are you?" He stuttered, panicked, looking for somewhere, anywhere to run. His stomach was bottoming out again. Nowhere to go. Bars all around. Nowhere to run. Stuck. Trapped. Nowhere to run.

                "A friend of your father's."

                "Fuck him."

                "Now, now, that's no way to talk about your loving parent."

                "Where is he?"

                "I do not know, nor do I care. Who is your companion? She has a twin brother?"

                Pietro glanced nervously at the ball of mutant that he was pretty sure was Jeanne-Marie Beaubier. "What do you want us for?"

                "Brave, little Quicksilver."

                Hardly. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to go. Heart thudding fast. He needed to run when it got like this. The only way to calm it. Like it was just kicking in again. Like when it had first started happening. "Let me out."

                "What is her power?"

                "I'm not telling you shit, _let me out!" Trapped. Caged. Screwed. So screwed. So very, very screwed. He remembered it now. That woman with the green hair. Knocked him out, in front of the house. Nothing. Nothing after that. Trapped. Fuck. _

                The man-thing's face changed. Pietro had the uncomfortable feeling that the painful expression was what passed for a smile, for him. "You will tell me, once way or another. You can tell me when I ask, or you can tell me the painful way."

                "Fuck you," he hoped he sounded braver than he felt. But something told him that under no circumstances did he want this thing to know shit about him, or about Jeanne-Marie. Not that he was feeling like a hero at the moment, that really wasn't his business, but at the moment she was his only ally.

                Not a heartening thought.

                "Very well."

                He now realized, he should've just talked. 

                He slammed against the back wall of the cell, having been thrown into it by a huge idiot of a mutant called Blockbuster, and slid down bonelessly, into a pile on the floor. Every pathway in his nervous system jumping. Twitching. 

                Someone gathered him up, wrapped arms around him. 

                "Pietro, what did he do to you?" 

                He twitched a moment longer, feeling the flashfire racing through his brain, down his spine, through his muscles. So much faster than it would've been for anyone else. For him, the shock was intensified thousands of times, his systems worked at such inhuman speeds. For him, the waves of electricity seemed to last thousands of times longer than they should have.

                Hands held him, smoothed his hair. He could barely feel her there. Just a few seconds, for her. Eternity for Quicksilver. 

                Finally, it stopped. His system was in shock. He tried to move. And couldn't. Not the right way, anyhow. Not fast. Panic again. Can't move fast. Something wrong. "Fuck."

                A face before his, Jeanne-Marie. "Pietro, are you alright?"

                "No. Where are we?"

                She glanced around once. The lab was empty now. She looked back at him. "Rogue called you, didn't she explain?"

                His brain hurt. That's what it was. He twitched, one more time. "Rogue? What the fuck does this have to do with Rogue?"

                The girl shook her head, irritated. 

                Looking absolutely nothing like she had… whenever he'd awakened on his back. However long ago it was. Felt like years. Now, she looked like the girl he'd met last week. Pretty face—gorgeous, in fact, intense eyes, quiet voice. And definitely in control of herself. "She received a phone call from a man called Gambit—,"

                "Gambit?! I _knew this was something with Magneto!"_

                "I don't know this Magneto," she continued, biting at her lip, "but I do know he told her that you were in danger, you and your sister. A man was coming for you, a man called Sinister, who wanted you for his genetic research into mutants."

                Blood flow starting to speed up again. He could feel it. Subconsciously, he was always aware of his systems, how fast they were moving. In case he needed to regulate. He could feel it coming back, and sighed now. "What does he want me and Wanda for?"

                The girl bit her lip again, and sat back, still facing him, on the cold floor. "You're twins."

                He felt his eyebrows raise. "So are you and—,"

                "Jean-Paul, _oui," she nodded. _

                "So how come Gambit didn't warn you guys too?"

                She shook her head, "I don't know."

                He remembered something then. Something he'd heard in a dream.

_                I don't _care _if you found another set of twins—you brought me one of each! What can I do with one of each?_

                "Theyfuckedup!"

                She furrowed her brow at him, obviously able to follow him not matter how fast his thoughts, or words, raced. 

                "They were supposed to get me and Wanda, but they saw you and your brother and decided to take all of us. Somehow, Wanda and Jean-Paul got away, but they got us. Must've been while I was passed out!" His mind was racing.

                She nodded, speaking slowly. So that he wanted to smack her and speed her up, really. Too slow. Think faster. Get out of here. Nowhere to run. "_Oui, _when we arrived to help you, you were already unconscious. Jean-Paul carried you to Scott, who protected you. Something must have happened after I was knocked unconscious as well… they lost us."

                No wonder, with the boy wonder protecting him. Figures. Worthless X-Losers. Couldn't even take care of one simple thing! "We're so fucked."

                She shook her head, "No. My brother will come for us."

                He sneered at her. "Your brother." Ok, so the guy was good. He'd proven his point. (_He's good, but I'm faster! He had to remind himself.) But that didn't mean he and the X-Goons could outdo _this _motherfucker. _

                She raised an eyebrow, "You seem to like him well enough."

                He narrowed his eyes at her. "Idon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingabout."

                He probably would've had a lot more to say to her on the subject, really. If he wasn't positively convinced his body was going to end up in various bits, in neatly labeled jars and containers scattered all over this lab, within the week.  

                The thought of that, combined with the uncomfortable memory of his insides being consumed by an electrical fire, really didn't leave him in the mood to argue. 

                Wanda had always wondered what it would take, to get him to shut the hell up. 

                Apparently, it was the threat of dissection.

                If he made it out of here alive, he'd have to make sure she never found that out. She'd like that entirely too much.

                He was pacing a rut into the ground. 

                They'd taken Jeanne-Marie. He could hear her screaming. He knew what they were doing.

                He could still feel it in him, if he thought about it. Flashfire in his nervous system. Something draining his mind of his memories, his life, his sanity.

                Not that he had much of that left. 

                Where the fuck _was her brother anyhow. Shouldn't he be here already? Christ, how long did it take to get to… wherever the hell they were? _

                Jesus. He had no idea where they were, even now. 

                Another scream, something sizzled. Like a tazer. He shivered, in fast forward. 

                Nowhere to run. 

                He'd tried everything. The bars wouldn't budge, no matter how hard and fast he came at them. Jeanne-Marie had tried too—she wasn't much slower than her brother. And she had that light too. But it didn't have any effect, other than the optical one, apparently. Which wasn't much use to them.

                Could he pace his way out of here, if the rut got deep enough? The stone under his feet was already nicely indented.

                No more screaming. Just a moan.

                Maybe she'd get lucky. Maybe she wouldn't remember. They'd drugged her up, before they took her. He'd heard them talking, once they took everything she had in her mind. About how her powers worked with her brother's. About how they must have a stronger link than him and Wanda.

                He hadn't known that. That their powers could work together. He would've been impressed, under normal circumstances. 

                But Sinister. He wanted to know if Jean-Paul could feel it, when Jeanne-Marie hurt.

                Shiver again. It could've been him. 

                But he didn't know who was luckier. She was the one being fried inside now, but listening to it was almost worse, somehow. 

                He was going insane. Bars all around him and nowhere to run and what was he supposed to do if he couldn't _run? Caged trapped scared dying suffocating mad. Gotta get out of here can't move can't breathe can't think with the sound of her being hurt with the feeling of his heart thudding with the smell of electricity with the bars closing in on him. _

                Fuck. 

                Just… fuck. 

                They finished with her, picked her up, threw her back in just like they'd thrown him.

                He flashed to her side. Caught her before she fell. Sunk to the ground with her. 

                She just cried. He tried to say something to her, but he didn't know what he could. Nothing would make her better. She'd reverted into French again, rocking back and forth slightly. He just sat her on the ground. He knew she probably needed to feel something, to feel someone. Somehow, he knew it. But he couldn't hold still. Couldn't watch her crying. Couldn't breathe. Fuck. 

                He was going to die. He knew it. Quicksilver was going to die.

                Or… maybe not.

                Whatever the hell was happening outside the lab, it was loud. And it sounded like the X-Men, to him.

                He pulled Jeanne-Marie up, off the ground. She tried to pull away, said something that sounded less than kind in French. He just put his arm around her, held her standing, pushed his face against the bars. "Hey! Hey! Anybody in here!?"

                No answer, just the echo of his voice.

                Sinister had gone, after the alarm went off. The place was locked down tight, lights off. (Torches still burnt, though. Torches. What the fuck?) The monitors had gone off a few minutes later. Like someone had thrown a circuit breaker. The only light came from the little fires and the bubbling green glass vat with its lump of… something floating in it listlessly. He tried not to look at it. 

                "Somebody!"

                Movement. He caught sight of someone familiar. Brown ponytail looked green in that light. But it was her. "Kitty!"

                "Kurt, they're here!" Kitty finished phasing through the wall across from them, pulling Nightcrawler with her. 

                "Ach, _Danke, Gott!" They came running toward the cell now. _

                He shifted Jeanne-Marie, who had started shaking a little. "Holy shit, get us out of here!"

                "Pietro, are you guys ok?" Kurt started as they reached them.

                "Jeanne-Marie! What happened to her?!" Kitty said simultaneously, reaching through the bars to take both of them by the hand and pull them out.

                "TheyhookedusuptoamachineandfriedournervoussystemsandnowI'mokbutJeanne-Mariedoesn'tlookssogoodandshekeepsspeakingFrench—,"

                "Forget I asked," Kurt took Jeanne-Marie from him and picked her up like she was a baby. She put her arms around his neck, as if by pure instinct, and buried her face in his neck. "Explain later. For now, we get you out of here."

                Kitty took his hand, "You come with me. Kurt will take Jeanne-Marie."

                He nodded, taking a deep breath. Free. Needed to run. But not now. Now, get free. Later, run. "Let's go."

                Kurt disappeared with Aurora, and Kitty pulled him through the wall like it wasn't even there, then led him down a long, torch-lit hallway. "Where the fuck are we?"

                "England."

                "How the fuck did we get to England?"

                "Sinister."

                "I know that, idiot, I mean—,"

                "Later, Pietro, ok? Jean-Paul is about to have a heart attack and Wanda is going to level this whole place. We have to get you to the jet."

                He stopped. "No."

                Her eyes popped. "What do you _mean no?!"_

                "They're all here?"

                "Yes, now, _come on." She pulled at him, insistently._

                "I want to help."

                "You sound like Northstar! That asshole insisted he should come. You guys are in _danger, you twins."_

                He narrowed his eyes at her.

                She sighed. "Just come with me. You've never wanted to be a hero before, don't start now."

                Frowning, dying to run toward the noise, he did what she asked. 

                And tried to suppress the shivers.

                "T'ought you should know, Quicksilver… was my fault, dat he knew 'bout you an' Wanda."

                Pietro tried to tear his eyes away from the depressing sight of Jean-Paul and Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, stony faced brother holding incapacitated sister. Jean-Paul was slumped over her, whispering the same thing in French, over and over again. 

                Eventually, he managed to look up at Remy. He'd never really liked the guy. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

                Gambit sat next to him, crouching down like a cat. There weren't enough seats for all of them, in the jet. But there was room. "Magneto sent me to gather information. Dis Sinister, he got ties to Apocalypse. But… dey caught me."

                This surprised him. "You got caught?"

                Solemnly, Remy nodded. 

                "Jesus. They fry you too?"

                Again, he nodded.

                Oh. Fuck. "Not your fault, then."

                Gambit shrugged. "Shouldn't have been caught."

                "Shit happens."

                "It does."

                "Where is he?" 

                "Don' know."

                "Did they call him?"

                "Couldn'. Don' know where he is."

                Somehow, Pietro wasn't surprised. 

                He returned his eyes to the Beaubiers now, who hadn't moved since they'd gotten on the jet. Still in that same corner. He wouldn't let anyone else near her. "What's he saying?"

                Remy sighed. "He sayin' _I'm sorry."_

                Pietro looked over at his own sister, staring out the window, angry. She'd wanted to level the place alright. And Lance wanted to help her. And then, they wanted to hunt Sinister down, since he'd gotten away, somehow. Along with his little lackeys. But that prick Cyclops had held them all back, saying there was no need for that, that the lab would be dealt with by the authorities, and all of Sinister' work dismantled properly. 

                Then Storm had whisked them all off to the jet.

                At least he'd had time for a little run. Not that it took long. 

                Wanda looked over at him suddenly, caught him looking at her.

                He just stared. Couldn't think of anything to say to her. Anything to do. Couldn't force a smile or a frown or even a nod of acknowledgement. 

                And she stared back.

                "I'm sorry too."


	12. Chapter Eleven: Home

**Chapter Eleven: Home **(Jean-Paul, et. Al.)

                Once she could speak again, Jeanne-Marie had told him about it. About what Sinister had done to her, and to Pietro. She told him that Sinister had wanted to know if he, Jean-Paul, would feel it when he hurt her.

                He had.

                The memory of it, of arriving at the castle Remy had shown them to, of suddenly feeling that sensation in his mind. Like someone was burning her, from the inside out. Scrambling her signal, making it feel… wrong. He'd become so used to it, in the time they'd been together. So sensitive to her, when he thought about it.

                Her mind had been screaming for him. That much, he could feel. Even when she was in so much pain, even when the submissive, frightened Jeanne-Marie she had within her was in control, she still believed he would come for her. He wanted her to know that he was there. Tried to think it over and over again, "I'm coming". But he didn't know if she could hear. 

                She said she couldn't remember, when he asked. She sometimes didn't remember things, when the emotions were too extreme, so he still didn't know if she had or she hadn't.

                It had been three days, and he still could not shake the feeling of it. Of her absolute terror. It had no shape, no words. He was not a strong enough psi for that. In fact, the Professor believed that Jeanne-Marie was stronger, projection wise, which probably explained the intensity of the feelings.  

                Jean-Paul was good at shutting people out. Jeanne-Marie was good at letting them in. He thought that suited them, really. Whether or not it worked outside of their link, or on the very small percent of the population with strong telepathy, as it seemed to with the Professor, remained to be seen. 

                He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that it had been his fault, their fight. And not because of what he'd said. But because he knew damn well that he'd shut her out, and was afraid _that was what had sent her to her room crying. And now, his fears were almost entirely confirmed, now that he knew he could, in fact, shut her out entirely._

                He tried not to think about it. But every time he looked at her now, he couldn't help but remember that he'd almost lost her. And before he'd apologized. When she still thought he didn't love her.

                He'd come to the conclusion that Scott had been right, just before the battle. His sister was troubled, anyone could see it. And if he loved her, he'd have to take care of her. And if she needed affection, he'd have to make sure that she got it in an… appropriate way, if necessary. The passive-aggressive thing wasn't going to work. Particularly not when she was feeling more outgoing. He was likely to end up with a busted lip, on those occasions, not to mention wounded pride. His face and his pride were two things he was not about to sacrifice, for the sake of being obtuse.

                No, he'd decided to tell her that he had been out of line. She would undoubtedly do the same, and all would be well, no one the worse for the wear. At least, that was the plan. He was never good at apologies. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd made one, to anyone. 

                Perhaps he wouldn't say _I'm sorry. But he would think of something else. Something to let her know. But he never got to, before they took her._

                And in the end, he'd said it over and over again. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. _

                Holding her, as she cried silently. He'd resisted the urge to do the same, whether because he was so drained, or because she was, he would never know. Not there, not in front of all of them.  Not that he really noticed who was there, but he felt them looking at him now and then. And he didn't care enough to look back, or to calm down. Just enough not to cry. 

                "There are two very distinct personalities in your sister. One, she associates with the little girl at Madame DuPont's, Jeanne-Marie. She is scared, unhappy, and extremely fragile. She does not seem to have a grasp on the reality of the everyday life of your sister. She is introverted, does not speak English well, and does not appear to recognize anyone as friendly, with the obvious exception of yourself. When something traumatic, or painful, happens to her, this personality tends to take control. It can release her slowly, or quickly. We've seen evidence of both. It can be a matter of a day, or a few hours. Possibly longer, or shorter."

                Jean-Paul just stared. Jeanne-Marie had been sent away, after the session. Her third deep session with the Professor, to try and eke out just what was happening to her. 

                He was stunned. Of course, it made sense… but he didn't want to accept it.

                The Professor was continuing, however, and he made himself listen. He had to hear this. He had to know.

                "The second is a personality she associates strongly, now, with Aurora, her code name. This is a vibrant, outgoing, dominant young woman. Almost the exact opposite of Jeanne-Marie, she wants to take risks, and thrives on adrenaline. This personality seems to become dominant when in a dangerous situation, such as in the Danger Room or any time she feels too stifled and needs to be free. Its hold seems to have a similar duration. This is the side of your sister that causes her to… behave recklessly at times."

                He winced, though mostly internally. The side that caused her to throw herself at every male in a five mile radius, no doubt. Lovely.

                "But the two are not always so mutually exclusive. I cannot say for certain, yet, but it seems that they either have joint control, or that there is a third personality that provides her with the middling, everyday persona we know as Jeanne-Marie around the house. She is quiet, but she knows when something needs to be said, or done, and she knows what she wants. Sweet, thoughtful, intelligent, but with flashes of jealousy, need, and temper. In short, a normal, well-adjusted teenager, for the most part."

                Jean-Paul put a hand to his temple, and rubbed at it. It did nothing for the headache, however. He hadn't really expected it to. But god, this hurt. "What can be done for her?"

                Xavier was watching him, carefully. Speaking in a carefully measured tone. Brilliant and helpful and infuriating all at once. "I believe what we are doing is what's best for her. She should not be treated as an invalid—she is anything but. Your sister is more an asset than a liability to anyone who knows her, and she's proven that repeatedly. I have considered removing her from the team, but I fear that not only would it encourage her to retreat more into herself, but also discourage her development into her full potential."

                "Mutant potential, or personal?" He knew it sounded sarcastic. And he'd meant it to. Honestly, he knew Xavier wanted what was best. But he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that his sister was still being used. To forward this man's goals, now. And Jeanne-Marie did not need to be used for anyone else's goals, no matter how noble.

                "Both," Xavier nodded, gently. "However, she needs your help. And so do I. I'd rather not use drugs—,"

                "No," he interrupted immediately, "she won't let you anyhow."

                Again, he nodded, "I believe you're right. And the extreme personalities only take control of her under extreme circumstances, so I feel she is in very little danger, here at the Institute. The memory blackouts they cause her could be problematic, but in this fairly controlled environment, it seems they  are unlikely to emerge. We should be vigilant, however."

                He just nodded now, closing his eyes. The light was hurting his head. Oh god. Jeanne-Marie.

                "I will talk to her about this, in a later session. If you like, you're welcome to be present, so long as she still wants you here. And I have a feeling she will. I'm telling you now, because I want you to be aware of what's happening to her, and what it means, immediately. Your link to her can provide us with the best information on how to help her, and how she's reacting to the world around her when she becomes unresponsive. And your love will keep her grounded, more than anything else here can."

                He opened his eyes again, at that, and met Xavier's. "I have a temper."

                The older man understood. "So does she. And you will fight, you're both too strong not to. But it won't always cause her to retreat, once your relationship is better established, and once she can trust in you more fully."

                "I shut her out," he admitted. 

                It had been making him crazy, really. Thinking of what he'd done. He hadn't meant to, not really. But… he had. And look what it had done to her.

                "Yes, and it may happen again," the Professor told him, slowly. "But you will pull through the difficulties. And we will all be here when it happens. This is not your fault, Jeanne-Marie's disorder. She was subjected to far more than any child should ever have to see or feel, and at a very young age. This is simply her psyche's way of dealing with the trauma. You are not responsible. But you _can _take some responsibility for her, in the future. If you are able."

                Jean-Paul nodded, without having to consider the issue any further. "Anything."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Logan was tired. Not physically, of course. It'd be a rare day that he stayed physically worn out for any extended period of time.

                But he thought maybe he could use a nap. Or a soundproof room. Or something.

                The kids were all outside, and he was looking down on them, from the balcony out back. Mutant ball. He watched the twins closely, and saw nothing but what could be expected. Aurora smiled and batted her eyelashes at Roberto. Northstar used the opening to tag him, as his foot slipped off base, when he stepped closer to her. 

                Cute. 

                Sometimes, he really had to wonder what the hell Charles was thinking. Bringing these kids here. Issues and powers and hormones, jammed into a house that was starting to feel a lot smaller than it should. 

                But sometimes, it worked out ok. Sometimes. At least, for the Beaubiers, it seemed to be working.

                Jean was laughing. Jeanne-Marie was dancing in front of their mirror.

                "And then he told me that if I thought I was the first girl who'd tried to out-flirt him, I had another thing coming. But when I kissed him, he shut right up!"

                It was a perfect match, she had to admit. Berto was a bit younger than JM, but the Brazilian boy needed someone who could keep him in check. And it seemed to make Jeanne-Marie happy, to be the one who could do it. 

                "What about you, Jean? Are you really going to leave us all?"

                She stopped laughing. She'd been thinking about it a lot lately. After this year, after getting so close to everyone, after everything they'd been through. And Scott… she really would miss Scott. Seemed like it had taken her so long to realize what it was she wanted. And now she knew. And now… "I guess so. I need to go to college, after all."

                Jeanne-Marie shrugged, "Can't you go here, like Scott?"

                The girl was too perceptive. 

                Not that it was hard to tell what she was thinking, probably. Everyone had been asking her lately, if she was really going to go. The answer was always the same.

                "I guess I could… but this is a really good school."

                Jeanne-Marie came and sat beside her, putting an arm around her. She was looking so much better after a month with them. No longer skinny and underfed. She looked good. Even more beautiful than she had been when she'd come. "If you go, we will miss you. But I will come visit."

                She smiled, and hoped it didn't look sad. "You'd better."

                Jean-Paul fell backwards, and landed in the sun-warm grass with a thump. Too bad he didn't tan so well, or it'd be the perfect day for it, really. Damn northern genes.

                "You two haven't fought in almost a week," Rogue was saying to him, making it her business to pop the heads off every dandelion within a ten foot radius of them. 

                He laughed at her, and was surprised at how it felt. He never really noticed before, but maybe Jeanne-Marie was right. He really didn't laugh all that much. "Missing the entertainment?"

                "Somethin' like that."

                "You upset that Remy's leaving?"

                She glared at him, "No. We're just friends. Not even friends, really. He's not exactly the trustworthy type."

                He reached around her, and into her back pocket.

                "Hey! Don't get fresh with me, flyboy!"

                And held up the card she kept there. The queen of hearts. 

                Her normally deathly white face grew pinker, under all that make-up. "It's just for luck."

                He flicked it at her, and it landed in her lap. "Sure, sure, _chere. Or should I not call you that, anymore?"_

                "Ah hate you, Jean-Paul."

                He took one of her gloved hands in his and put it to his lips, well amused with his own cleverness. "I know."

                This time, she laughed too.

                Janos was in a world of pain. 

                That's pretty much it. All that existed. Pain. Red burning pain. Behind his eyes, in his veins. 

                They'd fucked it up. A stupid little mission and they'd fucked it. One more chance. That's all they'd be getting. One more chance. 

                But first, the lesson. 

                Which was where the pain was coming from. 

                He'd be sure not to fuck up again. He'd be damn sure.

                Wanda rolled her eyes. "Don't be such an idiot."

                Pietro raised his eyebrows at her. "Ahh, come on sis! It'll be fun!"

                "I don't do practical jokes. Why don't you go and find Todd."

                He was suddenly on the other side of her. "Cause that's our victim!"

                Suddenly, she was a little more interested. 

                Anyhow, would it kill her to try and figure out what the hell he saw in this whole irritating delinquent thing? Maybe it'd make him a little more tolerable. And really… she might as well tolerate him. He was pretty much the only family she could claim, or that could claim her, by rights. And she did…

                You know, care. 

                "Alright… what's the plan."

                "I knew it!" He bounced joyfully. "Ok ok. You go and act like you want into his room—,"

                "Ok, stop right there. I'm not going in there." 

                He made his pouty face. She had a sudden flashback to being a child, with him. Nothing much, just that same face. She almost laughed at it. He still looked the same, really. "Wandaaaa."

                "Whining won't help. New plan."

                He sighed, "Ok, I'll think of something else. Back in a flash."

                She shook her head, and very nearly smiled. "Ass."

                Rogue let go of the bar, tucked up into herself, saw the floor flash below her.. and landed. 

                Perfectly.

                "Holy shit, ah did it!"

                Kitty and Kurt joined her in a little dance, punctuated with much whooping and singing—the last two mainly from Kurt, before they all went back to what they were doing. 

                Jean-Paul wasn't going to believe her. He'd make her do it later, to prove it. 

                But she still felt pretty damn good, even knowing that. 

                Really, things had been surprisingly quiet lately. Aside from the weird disquieting effect of having Remy in the house, she'd been pretty happy. And not that Gambit made her _unhappy, per se… just… _

                Well, something else for Kitty to tease her about, anyhow. 

                She complained about it, but really, she liked it. Teasing was a kind of affection even she could appreciate, really.

                Jeanne-Marie leaned back on Roberto and took the remote control from him.

                He made a face at her. 

                She smiled sweetly and turned the volume up, then returned the remote.

                He nodded, and patted her shoulder. 

                Footsteps behind them as Jean-Paul came to lean on the back of the couch, hanging over so his head was next to hers. "What's on?"

                Berto froze. 

                Jeanne-Marie laughed. "Bad music videos."

                Her brother pulled a face of utter disgust. "Pass."

                Berto didn't seem to be breathing. 

                Jeanne-Marie was highly amused by this reaction in her new love interest. Any time her brother appeared, whether he was near her or across the room from her, he suddenly developed some kind of muscle-lock issue. Funny, coming from someone with Roberto's self-confidence, really. Cute, even. Eventually, she would reassure him that Jean-Paul was not a wild cat, and would not tear his throat out.

                But she wanted to make sure it was true, before she promised anything.

                Her brother stood now, and ruffled her hair affectionately. 

                On his way out, he ruffled Berto's hair too. Roughly. 

                Roberto's eyes widened in terror.  

                She took the remote control back. This time, he didn't bother making a face. 

                Remy had a choice to make. He knew where to find Magneto, now. It had been the set amount of time. If he wanted, he could be found. 

                Or, he could disappear. 

                On one hand, he really should finish the job. And inform the "boss" of what, exactly, had almost happened to his children while he was busy playing at espionage.

                But on the other hand… fuck him.

                Scott ducked another of Alex's high kicks, and swept his leg out from under him.

                The blonde boy hit the ground, hard, laughing like a madman. "Oh dude, I am never going to learn!"

                Smiling, Scott reached down and offered his brother a hand up, "Sure you are. Mr. Logan has been working hard with you guys, it shows. I'm just taller, so I had the advantage there."

                Alex used the hand offered him and jumped to his feet. "Ok I've had enough of getting my ass kicked. How about you drive me into town and we get some burgers. I'm starving."

                "Sounds good," he agreed, nodding.

                The kid was in good shape from all that surfing. He wondered how long it would be before he got sick of being landlocked for so long, before he missed the ocean. It was a short drive, from here, of course. But it wasn't quite the same. The freezing cold water of the northern Atlantic really didn't have the waves that the sunny beaches of Hawaii could claim.

                But it was good, for now, having him here.

                Scott was proud, really. Watching him with the other New Mutants. The kid was good. Maybe he'd be an X-Man before too long. He really couldn't imagine that they'd be like the Beaubiers, after all, getting into fights in front of everyone. It'd be fun, having the kid on the team. 

                "Hey, earth to Scott. C'mon man, I'm starving."

                Pietro wasn't really sure what he was supposed to say. He'd come with Wanda, who wanted to see Kitty. 

                But really, he wanted to check on Jeanne-Marie. He'd been having nightmares, lately. He wouldn't admit to it aloud, of course. But he had to wonder… maybe she had too.

                He'd found her, around back, with her brother. Hesitated for a minute, trying to think of what it was he'd wanted to say to her. He couldn't remember now. And this seemed like a really shitty idea all the sudden.

                Jean-Paul saw him though, and was nodding in his direction. His sister turned, smiling, and half-ran over to him.

                She looked good. She looked happy. He hadn't seen her since the X-Jet, on the way back from London. When she could barely speak. When she'd been clinging to her brother. Well, he hadn't seen her up close, anyhow. When either of them turned up somewhere near him, he left the scene pretty quickly. He didn't really like to think about it, too much. 

                He found that he was relieved, to see her alright. She did not look like a girl who was having nightmares. 

                "Pietro!" She threw her arms around his neck. "It's good to see you!"

                Shocked to find her in his arms, he paused, his eyes catching Jean-Paul's. Completely on accident, of course.

                The guy just grinned at him. Shameless. 

                That shit. Not that it hadn't been flattering, and all. But Jesus. 

                He squeezed her once, and let her pull away. "Look, um… I just wanted to see if you were ok. I mean, I saw you the other day…"

                "At the mall," she nodded. "I wondered why you disappeared so fast."

                He shifted. "Yeah, I was busy. Wanda's inside. I'm just… on my way somewhere."

                She leaned in and kissed his cheek, then started toward the house, "I'll go say hi."

                And he was left, stunned again, staring at Jean-Paul. "What is it with you two?"

                He shrugged, leveling those bright blue eyes at him. "Race you to the house?"

                It was at that moment, when he actually looked the other boy in the eye, that Pietro had a realization—Jean-Paul was trying to fuck with his head. The guy had kissed him in an attempt to catch him by surprise, and make him nervous. He could see it now, the way he was looking at him. He was trying to make him squirm.

                That was _his trick!_

                If Pietro were anyone else, it would've pissed him off. But, being Pietro, he was simply impressed. Now _this was a guy who could keep up with him._

                "Don't even fuck with me, Beaubier. You want me embarrassed again, I can feel it."

                "Don't make me drop you this time. I think Wanda would kill me."

                He paused now. Only for an instant, while his mind jumped tracks. Jeanne-Marie. Crying. Flashfire through him. Green bubbling something. Bars. Trapped. 

                "She ok?"

                The dark haired boy nodded, "As ok as she can be."

                "Something's… wrong, isn't it?"

                Again, he nodded. Slowly this time. Like he didn't want to say it. He wasn't grinning anymore. "Dissociative disorder."

                "Fuck."

                "Yeah."

                They just looked at each other for a second. Another flash of silence. Quicksilver tried to think of something funny to say, but his mind was racing too fast. Crying. In French. Nice smile. Poor guy. Pretty fast. Like me. Wanda. Practical joke. Jeanne-Marie. Gambit. Sinister. Every thought brought fifty more, in a split second. 

                Oh, what the fuck.

                "Hey, I got this great idea."

                "I'm listening."

—The End!—

~Or… is it…? Will Jeanne-Marie be able to hold together? Will Jean-Paul be able to stay friends with Pietro? And what about when school starts? Stay tuned for the Further Adventures of Aurora and Northstar in Bayville! Watch for "Here Comes Trouble," the utterly random sequel, where plot bunnies run amok!~

AN: Thanks to everyone who read! SilverCaladan and Fata Morgana, your input was really wonderful, and well appreciated. Risty, thank you _so much for catching my mistake, calling her disorder MPD! Relwarc, The Rogue Witch, Girlonthem00n, and as always, the M, thank you for the encouragement!_

And Sue! SUE! *tackle*


End file.
